Unrequited Love Is Hardly Fashionable
by miss Kittyplank
Summary: Spoilers for series 2! My take on the series 2 ep3 previews!  some spoilers for some following series 2 eps also   Mary/Matthew with probably more of a Mary focus. Despite Mary's wishes to remain silent on the matter, Matthew is made aware of her feeling
1. Chapter 1

After seeing the spoilers for series 2 episode 3, I couldn't help myself!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1:<span>**

"No, Granny, please-"

"Well, if you're not going to tell him my dear, I'm afraid I will."

Mary's eyes widened as Violet rose, her cane in one hand, her eyebrows raised daring her granddaughter to stop her. Mary stood up abruptly from her chair and held her shoulders back. "No, you won't." That Crawley stubbornness glinting in both of their eyes.

Violet clucked her tongue in irritation. "Mary, you surely cannot stand by and watch Matthew marry that...that trollop!"

Cora looked up sharply at her mother-in-law. "There's no need for such language, is there?"

"There is much need! Rosamund knows for a fact that this _solicitor's_ daughter is nothing more than a-"

"Granny, I beg you, don't talk about Lavinia in such a way." Mary tapped her leg in embarrassment at her grandmother's harsh words.

"And we can hardly take everything Rosamund says as the Gospel truth." Cora muttered.

"My daughter has a firsthand account of the matter _and_ she saw Miss Swire and Sir Richard arguing, what further proof do you need? That girl is not virtuous!" Violet asked Mary, beseechingly.

"And I am?" Mary said incredulously; both Lady Granthams bristled. "You're hoping that once Matthew knows the truth, he will break it off and come running to me, but that won't happen."

Violet huffed indignantly and sat back down. "I don't see why not? She's not good enough for him."

Mary laughed humourlessly. "And again, I must ask 'and I am?' Lavinia is kind and thoughtful. She wears her heart on her sleeve and she can give Matthew the affection that he deserves." She started to play with her necklace nervously.

Cora looked at her daughter worryingly. "So are you, my darling. You may not always share what you're feeling but you are a very affectionate person." Violet nodded, although perhaps more to persuade Mary to out Lavinia than in agreement.

Mary's shoulders sagged a little. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I can also be difficult...and be mean and spiteful, just ask Edith," Mary said wryly, "...I am certainly not virtuous...and I had my chance."

"But he thought that you were concerned as to whether he would be the heir, he didn't know about...Pamuk." Cora offered, turning in her chair as her daughter walked to the window.

"It was still a factor. I admit that I was scared that everyone would be right about me, that all I did give a fig about was money. So, I...hesitated-"

"Yes, but-" Violet tried.

"I hesitated and lost him." Mary said loudly, still looking out on to the grounds. "He found Lavinia and now he is happy." She turned away from the window then and walked back to them, resting her hand on the back of an armchair, feeling the chair covered her somehow. "I won't ruin that."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Don't you love him?" She demanded crossly.

Mary blinked, offended. "That is besides the-"

"Answer the question, girl!" Violet demanded again, banging her cane against the ground.

"Oh really! Let us not argue!" Cora looked hard at the Dowager Countess imploringly, wanting to spare her daughter's feelings.

Violet ignored her daughter-in-law. It was hardly the first time. "Well?"

Mary glared at her grandmother, but relented. "Yes, I love him. I haven't stopped loving him. I probably fell in love with him the first time I saw him on that bloody bicycle-"

"Mary!" Her mother chastised her for her language.

Mary shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "Well, you asked! I love him and it hurts because he loves her, that he is happy with _her_!" She allowed some resentment for Lavinia to seep through.

Violet's expression softened. "Then, tell him."

Mary smiled sadly. "If I loved him less, I would do. But that's the thing about loving someone, _truly_ loving someone," Cora gazed at her daughter questioningly, "...their happiness means much more than one's own." She finished softly, suddenly interested by a spot on the rug.

"...Oh my darling," Cora said softly.

Violet looked between Cora and Mary, frowning, as mother and daughter seemed to share a moment. "This is ridiculous! If Mary insists on being in love, then she has to tell him! I will not have my granddaughter be a martyr in order for some middle-class _chit_ to become Downton's mistress. Anyway, unrequited love is hardly fashionable." She declared, deciding her word to be fact.

"I'm not a martyr!" Mary said, indignantly, refusing to be pitied. "I'm just not going to betray Lavinia- a woman who will most likely make Matthew a better wife than I ever could - and accuse her of things that aren't any worse than what I myself have done. Matthew is content and that is the end of it." She held up her hand to stop her mother's interruption. The parlour door opened. "I'm not going to make a mess of it all and embarrass myself by telling Matthew – no matter how fashionable unrequited love may or may not be – that I am in love with him and have been for years." She stopped as she saw the eyes of the other women drawn to the door. A lump instinctively formed in her throat, her head snapped to the left. There stood Carson, trying hard not to look uncomfortable, with a familiar wide-eyed gentleman beside him.

Carson coughed a little, before smiling politely at Cora. "Captain Crawley, my lady."

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><p>Now, is it TBC?<p>

Reviews are more than welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

After the great response to the first chapter, I decided to get right back to it! Your reviews were much appreciated and more would be great! I have a plan of where I want this to go, but your thoughts and comments on bits you like etc are really helpful, so please please review!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2:<span>**

She wanted the ground to swallow up, why wasn't it swallowing her up? She felt as the entire Abbey would be able to hear her heart pounding, but was well aware of the awkward silence which had engulfed the parlour. Mary's eyes flicked to her mother's frantically.

Looking between Matthew and Mary, the former staring - mouth agape - at the latter whilst the latter looked at anything and everything but the former, Cora rose from her seat briskly and forced a smile on to her face. "Cousin Matthew! We didn't know that you were coming!" She looked at Carson, a little desperately. "Would you bring some tea, Carson?"

"Of course, my lady." Carson acquiesced, glancing sympathetically at Lady Mary as he left. Mary's eyes fluttered closed as the door closed, feeling even more trapped if that was at all possible.

"Matthew?" Cora called him again, trying to pry his eyes from Mary. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mary sighed inwardly as she felt Matthew's eyes dragged slowly from her face. "Oh...um," he said uneasily, tapping his soldier's cap against his leg, "I thought I'd see how mother was getting on, with Downton's transformation into a convalescence home."

Cora schooled her face from showing too much irritation; she'd forgotten all about _that_. "Ah yes, she's quite the Florence Nightingale, isn't she?" At Violet's little noise of amusement, Cora berated herself for allowing bitterness to creep into her tone and smiled sweetly to take the sting out of her words. "Won't you sit down?"

Matthew gave a tight smile, but said nothing. He sat down in one of the chairs facing away from the fireplace. Dressed in his uniform, he looked so out of place in the softly-decorated parlour.

Violet looked briefly at everyone else in the room, seeming to take some enjoyment from the awkwardness of it all. She went to open her mouth, but looking again at Mary, she pursed her lips unhappily. She glanced at her granddaughter's hands which seemed to clutching on to the back of the chair for dear life, having not moved an inch since Matthew had walked into the room. She looked paler than usual and, for someone who could be quite skilled at hiding how she felt, her wretchedness and desire to flee were abundantly clear. "Why don't you run along and ask Edith to join us?" Violet offered, taking pity on Mary. Matthew's eyes flew to her granddaughter again. Mary shifted on her feet. "Now that she's no longer playing the farmer, I am sure that she can come down and spend some time with her grandmother, hmm?"

Mary took a small step back; her eyes had been darting about the room so much that they finally met Matthew's. "Yes, I'll..." she cleared her throat, scolding herself for how hoarse it suddenly sounded, "I'll just..." and with that she all but ran from the room.

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><p>Walking briskly through the main hall, she weaved her way between hospital beds and nurses who were readying everything for the injured arrivals. She briefly felt Isobel's questioning gaze on her, but ignored it as she clambered up the stairs, thanking the heavens as she saw Edith walking along the gallery, reading. A book on farming, no doubt. Grabbing her sister's hand and ignoring Edith's protests, she dragged her sister to her room. Closing the door hard, she rested against it for a moment, getting her breath back.<p>

"What have you done now?" Edith's complaints brought Mary back to the present. "Why have you dragged me in here? You always say I'm in your room far too much!" But she made no effort to leave as Mary walked to her closest and started searching for something. "What ever is the matter?"

Finding a suitably light coat, Mary turned to her younger sister. "You have to go downstairs to the parlour and take tea with Granny and Mama."

Edith signed resignedly. "Must I?"

"Yes. You must." Mary pulled her coat on and went to a drawer searching for gloves. "Cousin Matthew's there as well."

"Cousin Matthew?" Edith inquired, smirking. "Then, I'm surprised you're up here."

Mary's eyes glanced at Edith in annoyance, but not for long as she continued her search. "I was sent to find you...and now I need you to do something for me."

"Me? Do something for you? You must be desperate." Edith said wryly.

Mary sighed, straightening up from her chest of drawers, summer gloves in hand. "Please, Edith-"

"Please? My, my-"

"Edith!" Mary said crossly, forcefully pushing the drawer shut. "For once in your life, can you forget that we're supposed to be one another's nemesis and just do something for me." Edith looked unimpressed but said nothing; Mary carried on. "I need you to tell them...tell them that Aunt Rosamund asked urgently to speak to me and that you are not sure whether I am still in the house or on the grounds or elsewhere."

"Why?" Edith asked, confused and unwilling.

Mary looked up in desperation and took a deep breath. "For no other reason than I'm your sister, do this for me..._please_."

Edith looked at Mary hard, judging her sincerity for a moment. She tilted her head to the side. "You really love him, don't you?"

Mary fought the urge to stamp her foot as she pulled her gloves on. "Why can't you-"

"Oh fine, I'll do it," Edith said, waving her sister off, "but if you love him...you should tell him. If only so you don't end up marrying that awful newspaper man and this house doesn't fall to some solicitor's daughter!"

Mary blinked. "And yet everyone still insists that _I'm_ the one who takes after Granny!"

Edith bristled at that, but rose above it. "I don't see what's changed!" She looked at her sister's hands as she did up her gloves. "I thought you and Matthew were friends!"

"Well, that was before..." Mary muttered, as she grabbed her wide-brimmed flowered hat and placed it on her head.

"Before what?" Edith tried to ask nonchalantly, looking at Mary's reflection.

Mary knew what Edith was about and gave her a look that said as much, but sighed dramatically and relented. "Before he walked in on me telling Granny that I am in love with him."

Edith shook her head, exasperated. "Why on earth would you tell Granny that? You know that she thinks all that is-"

"Hardly fashionable, yes, yes..." She said distracted, quickly adjusting her hat in the mirror. "I know."

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><p>"Edith, there you are, my dear! We were just telling Cousin Matthew all about your time on one of the farms!" Cora called across the room. Edith raised an eyebrow at her grandmother, questioning her mother's sudden enthusiasm for her daughter driving tractors.<p>

"Well, they needed someone who could drive and I stepped in." Edith said briskly, eager to move off that subject.

Cora glanced behind Edith and smiled nervously. "Where's Mary?"

Edith stepped forward a little and forced a look of indifference on to her face. "I'm not quite sure. Aunt Rosamund was in desperate need of her so I think they went somewhere to talk." Her indifference turned to a frown as her mother's face went red. "Why? What's-"

"I was in desperate need of her? How peculiar." Another voice added, amusement in its tone. Edith blanched as Aunt Rosamund poked her head around the chair to face her.

She swallowed, already vowing to never help her elder sister again. "Aunt Rosamund! Why are you-"

"here rather than staying away and aiding Mary in her alibi?" Rosamund supplied, ignoring the glare from her sister-in-law.

"My daughter wanted an opportunity to see our Captain Crawley in the flesh before she leaves tomorrow morning. It's so lovely to have all the family under one roof, don't you think?" Violet said cheerfully, trying to halt anymore of her daughter's meddling.

At the mention of said Captain Crawley, Edith looked at the sole gentleman in the room. He was fidgeting and wringing his hands, every so often he attempted a smile. He looked like he wanted to escape, and yet he seemed glued to his seat. She felt for sorry for him and Edith never felt sorry for Matthew. Edith wanted to roll her eyes at Mary's behaviour. Happily engaged to Lavinia and allowed a respite from war in order to rally up young men to fight and then Mary has to go and open her big mouth. He certainly didn't look happy anymore. She took another step forward, ready to sit down and continue inane conversation until eventually Matthew would depart. Tomorrow, he'd be naive and assume that he'd misheard and Mary would still be a coward and skirt around Matthew and how she was feeling.

"Oh yes, Mama, with Robert in his uniform as well, it also reminds me of how it once was, before Papa died," Rosamund sighed, sipping from her teacup and glancing at Cora, "and before my dear brother married."

Glares were thrown in all directions, but once more Edith glanced at her cousin and thought of how familiar his expression was. He appeared as if he'd been doused with water and left more than a little shook up, cold and miserable. And then she realised where she'd seen that look: Mary. Mary had been walking around with that look for years, when she thought she was alone or no one was looking. Sighing, Edith helped herself to a cup and sat down next to her grandmother, promising herself that her next words weren't for Mary's benefit but for Matthew's...and if Mary ruined her chance with Matthew again, she'd strangle her.

"What a wedding you and Papa must have had!" Edith offered as she stirred her tea leisurely. "Did it take place at the village church?"

Violet flared up at that, casting a side-glance at Cora. "No, your mother decided she wanted to get married in London, despite I don't know how many generations of Granthams marrying there."

Cora could not help but roll her eyes at that. "As I said then, _more than_ _twenty-seven years ago_, my family had to be back in New York and did not have the time to travel north again."

Rosamund grinned behind her teacup. "That certainly did not stop them from staying at Downton for almost two months beforehand."

"Why do you ask, darling?" Cora inquired, praying for peace and quiet but knowing that, with her home now being turned upside-down and Rosamund continuing to stay for _just one more day_, her prayers were likely to be never answered.

"Oh, no reason in particular," Edith said nonchalantly, her eyes flickering to Matthew, "...it's just Mary was interested...I suppose that's where she is now, she mentioned heading in that direction." She smiled a little as she saw, in the corner of her eye, Matthew's head pick up.

"Really? Am I there with her?" Rosamund smiled sweetly.

Cora and Violet both went to retort, but stopped as they heard the clinking of china and Matthew jumped ungraciously to his feet. "Matthew?" Cora raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Thank for the tea Cousin Cora, but I..." he gestured towards the door, "I should really pay my mother a visit in the hall, I did say that I would help the others move beds and..." he trailed off and swallowed nervously.

Cora smiled graciously. "Of course, we've taken up too much of your time already."

Violet sniffed a little less graciously. "Send your mother my regards."

"Send your regards? She's in the _hall_, Granny." Edith grinned, congratulating herself on what a fine, though unwilling, matchmaker she was. "Goodbye Matthew." She held his gaze for a moment.

"Thank you." He said softly. "Well, goodbye, then." He tried to sound cheerful, before awkwardly nodding his head and leaving the room.

Cora sighed, leaning back in her chair. "She's going to send me to an early grave, I'm sure of it."

"Mary?" Edith and Violet both offered.

"No, Cousin Isobel," she admitted guiltily.

"Oh Cora my dear, I've often thought that many times, but I'm still standing, she won't better me! And – whilst you're not a Grantham in the truest sense, _by blood_," Violet said, as if imparting great wisdom; Cora bit her tongue, "I have no doubt that you have a strong constitution which will outlast Mrs. Crawley's passion for interfering in matters which shouldn't concern her."

"That was a compliment, if that wasn't quite clear." Rosamund said impishly to her sister-in-law.

"Thank you." Cora said, albeit entirely sardonically, before wanting to be petulant for a little longer. "I still feel like she's taking over my home."

"Yes, well..." Violet drawled. "I think I can safely say that I know how _that_ feels." Cora opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as her husband breezed into the room.

"Matthew, my dear fellow, how the devil are-" He broke off as he saw the whole room, only of ladies. All of their faces ranging from amused to exasperated. "Where's Matthew?"

"He's go to speak to his mother." Cora answered.

"And he's sending Granny's regards." Edith added, smiling.

"To Isobel?" He frowned. "But he's already spoken to...oh wait!" He said, excitedly, something catching his eye in the far window. "There he goes! He's leaving?...Well, no matter, I'll go get him, invite him in for a cigar or something-"

"No darling," Cora said gently, reaching up and resting her hand on Robert's arm. "He's gone to speak to his mother." She repeated again with some needed gravitas.

Robert blinked. "But Isobel's in the other room."

"...He's taking a detour." His sister raised a defiant eyebrow.

"A detour?" He blinked again.

"Yes, Papa." Edith smiled sweetly.

"A _detour_?" He frowned, convinced he was missing something.

His mother snapped. "Oh honestly Robert, are you an Earl or a parrot? Do make up your mind!"

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><p>Walking slowly down the aisle, her heels clicking on the stone floor, Mary looked up at the altar and allowed herself a moment to imagine how different everything might have been. If she'd said yes to Matthew when he'd first proposed, they would have been married here, in front of family, friends and the village. She would have had to wear off-white. Mary smirked at that, allowing herself a little joke. She had to find humour where she could. Saying a small silent prayer (she'd said a lot of prayers recently) for her parents, for her sisters, for Carson, Anna and the others, for the young men fighting in France...and for the ability to erase what had occurred a mere half-hour before, Mary sat heavily on the pew. She flicked absentmindedly through a prayer book but, soon bored, she placed it down again. Tapping a nervous heel, she began to whistle a tune and, without realising it, she gently broke out in song.<p>

"_A_ _garden of Eden just made for two, with nothing to mar our joy_," she closed her eyes, tired from the day's events, "_I would say such wonderful things to you, there would be such wonderful things to do, if you were the only girl in the world and I were_-" Her eyes snapped open as she heard different heels click on the stone.

"You have a beautiful voice, you know."

Mary took a deep sigh before she turned around, a small smile gracing her features. "Thank you, I'm not so sure, but I'll take your word for it." With almost any other stranger who had graced Downton with their presence, Mary found being pleasant a chore. It irritated her at how easily she had come to respect and like the one woman who, as every good romance novel would encourage, should be disliked on principle. "Won't you sit down, Lavinia?"

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

I can't help myself, I'm churning this one out at an alarming rate, but I keep getting ideas! Your reviews again are much appreciated and really helpful, I love hearing favourite lines and stuff like that. Anyway, do enjoy! This is a less humorous than the last chapter, but that's to be expected, I guess.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 3:<span>**

"You know, don't you?" Lavinia asked quietly, looking down at her hands in embarrassment. She had sat down next to the Mary in pew; pleasantries over, she'd cut right to the chase. "Sir Richard told you."

"Richard hasn't told me anything," Mary said slowly, "and you need not tell me anything either."

Lavinia sighed a little. "You're disappointed. I know, I'm disappointed in myself, but I just didn't know what to do. I knew I should have told Matthew, but I...he deserves better, a wife who-"

"Matthew has _you_, and you make him happy." Mary said kindly, for her own as much as Lavinia's benefit. "Nothing else matters."

"It's hardly what you'd expect from a future Earl's future wife though, I don't suppose any of the ladies of your acquaintance have pasts like mine." She said somewhat bitterly, but the question in her eyes showed how deeply she craved reassurance.

"You'd be surprised." Mary said dryly, but smiling kindly again. "...And I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?" Lavinia's voice shook with relief. "I do so much want to fit in, to be part of this family."

Mary swallowed guiltily, ashamed for even half-wishing that the truth about Lavinia had leaked out. "You will do, you do already," she said, trying to assure her, "but I wouldn't worry about fitting in. All Crawleys must be at least a little odd or eccentric in some way...although, with our dear Granny, I suppose we have enough eccentricities for one family!" She let out a laugh, irritated at how nervous it was and how she was rambling. Fortunately, Lavinia seemed lost in her own thoughts. "I won't tell Matthew, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh yes, I know you wouldn't, Matthew's always telling me you're too good," Lavinia smiled in gratitude, as Mary quirked an eyebrow at Matthew's estimation of her, "It's only that I don't know what to do about Sir Richard. What if he printed it in his newspapers? Daddy would die over it, I'm sure, and to shame Matthew like that-"

"There's news on that score!" Mary held up a hand to stop Lavinia's worrying and broke out into her brightest smile. "Richard's asked me to marry him...and I'm going to accept him."

Lavinia frowned a little, but reciprocated the smile. "Congratulations Mary, are you-"

"Well, don't you see? Richard would never say anything if he and I were to be married. Like you said, we're going to be family, we _are_ family...and so your...past would affect me and thus Richard." Mary said, still brightly, trying not to linger on what an unflattering picture this painted of her fiancé- to-be.

Lavinia sat, wide-eyed, and paused. "Would it be terribly arrogant to ask if this is the sole reason for your acceptance?"

Mary grinned at that. "No, no. It _is_ a bonus, I admit. Richard and I get on well together, we are of a similar disposition and he wants to give me the world...He's not insipid, like so many other men his age, and he challenges me, I like that...it's a good match." She nodded. It _was_ a good match.

Lavinia stared at Mary a moment, seemingly reluctant to ask her next question. "And you love him?"

Mary's eyes looked down at that. She wondered at everyone's sudden obsession with love and turned to face the pulpit. "Er, I...I don't think so, _no_...not yet anyway, but these things take time and I'm getting there." She replied, being as honest as she could, before reverting back to her usual dry self. "Aunt Rosamund's keen to remind me that I've had far too many seasons to dawdle and he's quite the catch." She glanced at Lavinia and shrugged. "The rest will follow, I imagine."

"Please, don't do anything rash, Mary." Lavinia said desperately, laying her hand over Mary's. "I didn't want to say this, it sounds so presumptuous, but...rest assured, we would always provide for you should you, or any of your sisters, decide to wait...or not get married at all. Matthew would have it no other way." Mary bit her tongue at that, wanting to point out that she'd known Matthew far longer and was already well-acquainted with his good and dutiful character. "We so want you to be happy..." Again, Mary stayed silent, knowing full well what would make her happy and knowing the impossibility of it. "...and to marry to for love," Lavinia sighed happily, "well, I confess, I want for you what I have, what Matthew and-"

"and you have, yes I understand." Mary cut off, quite sharply. Evidently, Matthew had not informed his fiancée of his previous proposal and the irony of their conversation was simply too much to bear. Seeing Lavinia taken aback by her tone, Mary patted their hands half-heartedly. "Haven't you heard how unfashionable love is?" She tried to joke, but frowned as Lavinia stared sympathetically. "I'm going to accept him, Lavinia, and hope for the best. When it comes to matter of the heart, history shows I've been far too cautious...it's time to take a risk, I think!"

Lavinia nodded slowly, she smiled softly. "A leap of faith?" Her eyes dancing as she gestured around the church.

Mary politely chuckled. "A leap of faith."

"I'll leave you to your thoughts, then." Lavinia smiled again, standing up. "Thank you for judging and for not...for not telling anyone about..."

Mary waved off her nervous gratitude. "There is no need to thank me, but you're welcome all the same."

Lavinia nodded, breathing a deep sigh, but paused again before walking off. "You'll have to forgive me for selfishly hoping that you'll stay close by no matter what you decide to do. I've really valued your company these last months, Mary."

"As I've valued yours." Mary agreed softly, watching Lavinia as she walked back down the aisle. She couldn't help but like Lavinia, that was true, but, if all conservation was to come so close to so many bones, she would have to emigrate.

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><p>Closing her eyes again, Mary tried to clear her mind but she couldn't. She couldn't even think of a tune to hum. Irritated, she saw Lavinia had left her green purse on the pew seat. Cursing softly under her breath, she grabbed the purse and ran back down the aisle and out of the church. "Lavinia, you've forgotten your..." She trailed off as she collided into velvet green. Hands went to her elbows to steady her, but knowing well who stood before her, she snatched her arms away as if they'd been burnt.<p>

"Matthew!" She chided herself for what can only be described as a squeak. "...I must dash, Lavinia forgot her..."

"_Lavinia_," he said slowly, as if testing out the word, before his unwavering gaze suddenly hardened. "Unbelievable..."

Mary blinked at that, shrinking under his glare, but decided to remain aloof. "You're angry, I see...makes a change, mouth agape and not a word to say, you were doing your best impression of a goldfish earlier."

"Don't do that." He said firmly. She raised a questioning eyebrow. "I can't count how many times you've belittled me, or someone, in order to avoid your own feelings, but not now...not today, _not_ after what I walked in on."

"Oh Matthew," She tried to smile, struggling to meet his gaze, "what am I always telling you? Take no notice of the things that I say." Her eyes flew to his as she suddenly realised what had happened after she'd last said _that_.

He gritted his teeth and forced a smirk. "Immortal last words." He tried not to care as she flinched. "Well, if you can be callous..."

She narrowed her eyes at him and determinedly held her ground. "You've changed...since the war started."

"We've all changed." He said, noncommittally. He gave her a half-smile; he didn't wear bitter well. "I'm in the army now."

"So I see." She said softly, looking at him, in his uniform and cap, feeling a sense of pride that she knew she had no right to feel. She tilted her head, her eyes caressing his face. "You're harder too, I think...still hopeful, less youthful-"

"You think me old?" He raised an amused eyebrow.

"No," She said seriously. "More mature, this Matthew wouldn't give me false promises."

He bristled. "Did I ever go back on my word?"

She sighed. "No...but...you were once more disposed to believing in and hoping for things that stood little chance of occurring."

"Oh Mary," he smiled softly, sadly, "...it wasn't the war that changed that."

He didn't look at her accusingly but she understood him perfectly and could feel her eyes start to burn, begging to cry. He looked up at the sky above them and shook his head, resigned. He took off his hat and held the church door for her. She walked in, silently, obligingly; he followed. Mary stood warily at the back but watched as Matthew took in his surroundings. "You know, Edith brought me here, it was one of the many churches she showed me when I was settling in. This is by no means the biggest or grandest of them, but I decided that I liked this one the best...Perhaps it's because one can see Downton from the stain-glass windows at the back. It looked _so_ beautiful from the window at dusk." He rested his cap on a pew and turned to her then, surprised she stood so far away from him. "I must have changed. You wouldn't stand there, nervous and holding your tongue, before the war," he said, smiling at earlier memories, "...why aren't you telling me that I'm being overly sentimental or that churches are for the old and dull?" She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. "...each time I return, you are very pleasant and polite, but you're wary of me...Lady Mary is wary of me...I must have changed." He repeated, swallowing unhappily.

A tear fell involuntarily, she batted it away quickly. "Well, obviously you haven't changed enough, because I still love you." He stared at her then, scared if he moved his eyes from her face she'd run, but surprise still fluttered across his features. "You heard me in the parlour, there's no point in skirting around the issue. That's why you're here, you want answers."

"To think that I never knew you loved me at all." He muttered incredulously. He waited for said answers, but she said nothing more. He frowned, frustrated. "You say _still_...how long?"

She tapped her hand against her leg, agitated to be put on the spot. "You are wanting a time and a date? I have no idea, it hardly matters-"

"Mary!" He berated himself for raising his voice, but for someone who thought skirting around the issue was pointless, she certainly did it well.

She shook her head, helplessly. "I don't know! I didn't recognise it to be love until I was already in the middle of it! After you walked off that night, the night that we hosted Sir Anthony, I felt that-"

"_Sir Anthony?_ As in Sir Anthony _Strallan_?" She barely nodded; his eyes widened, furious. "That was long before the war, before I _proposed_!" He laughed humourlessly. "...And yet you still refused me."

She gave him a warning look as he glared at her, still demanding answers. "Don't! Don't ask me my reasons, because I cannot tell you now, I _will_ not!"

"Don't I _deserve_ to know your reasons?" He said, daring her to disagree.

"Undoubtedly, but it doesn't matter now, does it? There's no point in dragging up the past!" She said, desperately, feeling this conversation slipping from her control at an alarming rate.

"Why not, hmm? I don't mind dragging it up!" He threw his arms out, angrily.

"Well, I do!"

"Why? Why can't you be decent for once in your life and explain yourself?"

She recoiled at the insult, but made an effort to lower her tone. "Because, if I am able to explain myself now, I could have explained myself then and things would be different...Whilst you've been fighting the Hun, I've been _here_, dwelling on my mistakes, that I should have put my shame and fear to one side and accepted you when I had the chance...I want, I _need_ to put those thoughts out of my mind Matthew, to move on and start my life again. If we have this talk and I give my reasons, I'll be back at the beginning."

"You love me..." He choked out; it wasn't a question. He took a step towards her, "and I...you know how I feel, how I've always-"

"Matthew, stop!" She held a hand up, startled by the sudden declaration of any feelings he may have for her. Realising what he was about to say, Matthew's eyes widened and his mind was sent reeling. The two of them stood there, breathing heavily. Anxiously clenching and unclenching her fists, Mary closed her eyes as she made another confession. "Richard asked me to be his wife and I'm going to say yes...that is, I've decided to marry him. I want to marry him. It's a good match, everybody thinks so." She groaned inwardly, wondering as to why she felt the need to justify herself and sound like a babbling fool. Matthew's eyes seemed to cloud over; opening her own, she was unsure if he'd heard her. "Matthew, I said-"

"Yes, congratulations." He smiled tightly. "I'm pleased for you and Lavinia will be too."

She half-heartedly smiled back, choosing not to needlessly tell him that she'd already told Lavinia. "Thank you." Uncomfortable with the awkwardness of it all, she stopped faking her smile and gazed at him, drank in the sight of him, gravely. "It's for the best." She prayed her voice had not made that a question, but she wasn't quite sure.

His jaw clenched; he picked up his cap and held it. "Yes." He walked back towards her then, heading towards the door.

She bit her lip then, wishing he'd never walked into the parlour and they could return to being friends. She couldn't help but place a hand on his arm as he walked past. "It will fade?" This time, the question crept in.

He sighed, pathetically feeling his heart beat faster as he felt her hand on his sleeve. "I honestly don't know." And with that, he left her – as Edith had so well put it – doused with water and more than a little shook up, cold and miserable.

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><p>TBC...<p>

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Here's another installment, thanks for the reviews and I hope you keep them coming!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Nearly at Downton's door, Mary paused and gave herself a moment to collect herself. Wiping the last of her tears away, she chided herself for crying so. She hadn't cried over Matthew since the year before, during the Somme, when he had returned to Downton for the first time since that dreaded garden party. She'd cried in front of Anna. Mary pondered that she rather seemed to do a lot of crying in front of the servants. She sighed unhappily, turning to look back at the landscape; she'd even shared a tear in front of Matthew today. How had it come to this? She had wanted nothing to do with spying on or betraying Lavinia, despite Granny's moans and Aunt Rosamund's pleas. She had risen above it and was not be swayed. The last time she'd been swayed, Mary was left wondering with a dead Turk in her bed. She scuffed at the gravel, sniffing. Now, she was left with a broken heart, or rather, was reminded of how broken her heart still remained. She'd tried to be Matthew's friend as well as Lavinia's and yet she was given no respite from her feelings, instead her feelings had to be dragged through the mud again.

Richard Carlisle could make her happy, she knew that he could, given the chance. Anna may have professed that she could love no other but Bates, but Mary thought that a bit ridiculous, that there was only one man you could love. Furthermore, Anna could take comfort in the fact that she knew, without a doubt, that her love was returned in kind. No matter what Mama said about a Mrs. Bates, Mary knew that Bates loved Anna as she did him. Shivering as the sun went down, she surveyed what she could see of her father's lands, lands of which she would never be mistress. Wiping again the tears that seemed to keep on falling against her wishes and blinking a little against the dimming sun, she realised that, though she loved Downton, Matthew could be a Marquis or a milkman and she would love him just the same. Her reasons for hesitating to answer his proposal seemed to fall by the wayside. If only she'd told him about Pamuk, confessed it all, he would've forgiven her, she _knew_ he would-

Her eyes widened as she stopped her line of thinking. Why hadn't she denied what was said in the parlour? Or avoided him until he gave up? He wouldn't have sought her out the next day. But, instead, she was left regretting, regretting that their romance had ended, regretting how it ended, regretting that she had confessed that she loved him and regretting that, yet again, she was looking back on her life with _regret_ rather than looking forward. She stomped her foot and let out an annoyed growl, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were still falling. It was all her Cousin Patrick's fault, if he hadn't decided to get on that bloody boat, she'd be married and she'd never have laid eyes on Matthew Crawley!

"A penny for them, my lady?" She spun around and espied Carson standing a few metres from the door. Mary knew that voice anywhere. His welcoming expression shifted to concern as he noticed her tear-stained face. "My lady, are you well?"

"Er, not particularly, no." She nevertheless smiled, wiping under her eyes.

He breached the distance between them. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what was said in the parlour, would it, my lady? When I showed Captain Crawley in?" She merely raised an eyebrow; the answer to his question being too obvious. "Mmm..." He said noncommittally, with that rich, low timbre helping Mary's eyes to dry, "...when I said tell him what's in your heart, my lady, that wasn't quite what I had envisaged."

"We are certainly in agreement there, Carson." She replied wryly, before sighing again. "I made a mess out of everything..._again_. But I haven't even done anything wicked, not recently anyway," She offered; Carson smiled in amusement, "I know I sound petulant but it's, well, it is simply _not fair_...Never again shall I try to be so accommodating and _nice_ to everyone, to Matthew and to Lavinia, even Edith asked if I was taking something to allow me to mellow..." She trailed off, shrugging, at a loss.

"Well, you know what they say about the road to hell Lady Mary...paved with good intentions." He smiled gently before taking on a more serious tone. "I know you were trying your best to be nice but you need to stay true to who you are! _Nice_ might be fine for the likes of Miss Swire, my lady, but _you_ are no Miss Swire." Carson said decidedly, as if rousing the troops to battle.

"I'm no Miss Swire..." Mary nodded, repeating it to herself. She frowned. "Is that-"

"A compliment? Of course, my lady." He nodded gravely. He followed her line of sight on to the grounds. "So, he knows you love him, may I ask what he had to say on the matter?"

She blew out a shaky breath. "He was caught unaware and he hates that. He wanted answers that I could not give him, and I think...I think he might even love me too."

"That's wonderful news, surely?" Carson looked back at his Lady's sombre expression.

"Not really. I feel less like I'm pining for him now, but he'll still marry the lovely Miss Swire and I plan to become Lady Mary Carlisle." Mary smiled, too grimly for her liking.

Carson could not help but shake his head vehemently. "Marry Sir Richard? My lady, please, you must talk to Captain Crawley again and convince him-"

"Of what? To abandon a woman to whom he's given his word? He wouldn't do that, I wouldn't want him to do that, Carson." Carson tutted sadly at the cheerless tone of her voice.

"But Miss Swire will find another, they can't have known each other long enough to be in love! Everyone does rash things during a war! She'll be upset, to be sure, but, to avoid a lifetime of unhappiness-"

Mary cut him off again. "My happiness is more important than a young woman's broken heart? Funny that everyone here is willing to turn the world upside down and upset other people's lives when that broken heart is mine. I _like_ Lavinia."

"So do I!" Carson said defensively. "My Lady." He added more politely.

Mary raised an eyebrow. "_If that little blonde upstart thinks she can waltz in here and take Lady Mary's rightful place then_..." She trailed off, grinning and she saw Carson's eyebrows hit his hairline. "I heard you talking with Mrs. Hughes the other day..."

Carson went a suitable shade of lobster pink. "My Lady, I am more than sorry that you heard that, it's not our place to say such things-"

"Oh Carson," She said fondly to stop his apologies, "whilst I do not encourage the idea that Lavinia and I are on opposing teams, I cannot help but be flattered by your vehement defence of me...you're quite the white knight, aren't you?" Grinning at his expression of distate.

"I wouldn't say that, my Lady."He said standing a little straighter before turning more serious. "Still, be it Captain Crawley, Sir Richard or anyone else, I'm behind you my Lady and you're always welcome in this house," She raised an eyebrow at such a pronouncement, "...or everyone will starve for I will not ring another dinner bell!"

Her eyes twinkled but she nodded graciously. "Why thank you Carson, but I just don't know how you expect me to consider any man good enough when you champion me so well." She couldn't help but tease him a little more and threw her head back and laughed as Carson blushed from head to toe and excused himself. Watching him go back into the house, she looked at the horizon one last time and wrapped her coat around herself a little tighter. She could still laugh, she could still have a life and be happy. Yes, she thought decidedly, she could be happy without Matthew Crawley.

* * *

><p>She put down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin, glancing at everyone around the table. "I have an announcement to make."<p>

Her father swallowed his mouthful and looked up expectantly. "Oh?"

"Good news, I hope?" Violet added.

Mary licked her lips nervously. "I think so, yes...Sir Richard asked me to marry him before he went to London and I told him that I'd think about it." A flicker of surprise registered on her parents' faces. "Well, I've thought about it and I've decided to accept him, I'll write him a letter and post it tomorrow."

"Oh, excellent, Mary! A good decision!" Her Aunt Rosamund said happily, smiling in thanks to Carson as she took some grapes from the tray.

"Congratulations, Mary." Sybil smiled, keeping any disappointment about her choice out of her voice.

Edith frowned, annoyed. "But Matthew went to find you!"

"He did find me." Mary said nonchalantly, sipping her wine. "How he knew to go the church is beyond me," she sent her sister a half-hearted glare, "and we talked for a while and I told him of my plans."

Edith continued, ignoring her sister's looks to drop the subject. "But didn't he have questions? I hope you told him what you felt!"

"So do I!" Violet added, feeling very put out by her lack of a share in the conversation.

Robert let his cutlery hit his plate sharply. "Would someone kindly tell me what is going on?" Edith and Mary stopped bickering at their father's commanding tone. "Richard Carlisle made an offer of marriage to _my_ daughter a fortnight ago and _this_ is the first I am to hear of it! Did he ask for my permission? No, he did not! And what's this about Matthew?"

"Matthew has nothing to do with this, Papa," Mary assured her father calmly, glaring at Edith to contradict her, "and what was the point of Richard asking your permission if I was planning on turning him down? I have no doubt, once he knows that I've accepted, he will ask you."

Robert didn't look any happier. "Well, I have a good mind to refuse him when he does!"

Mary was taken aback by that. Sybil rose to her defence. "Papa, don't be like that, if Mary loves Sir Richard then you must not be unkind, I thought he was quite pleasant." She smiled at Mary and reached out to squeeze her hand in support. Mary smiled, mouthing 'thank you darling'.

Robert raised an eyebrow and looked at his eldest, expectantly. "And do you? Love him, that is?"

Mary gritted her teeth, if she never heard the word 'love' again, it wouldn't be too soon. "I'm very fond of him. I admire him and I respect him. I enjoy his company and value his opinions, do I love him? I don't know, but that's a good start, isn't it?" She dared her father to refute her, but he paused.

"...Matthew asked me promptly." Robert said quietly.

Mary gasped and was shocked into silence. "Papa!" Sybil chastised him, angrily.

"Darling," Cora looked at her husband warningly from across the table. "That ship has sailed..."

"Well, it needn't have!" Robert said petulantly, tossing his napkin on the table. "This isn't how things were supposed to happen! She waited too long to give Matthew an answer and now he has found some young girl from London who's never ridden a damn horse, let alone have the faintest idea of how to be mistress of this estate whilst Mary has been moping about because she knows she made a mistake!"

"Robert!" Cora tried to silence him.

Aunt Rosamund scoffed. "This is a first. You've said nothing about this before!"

Robert rounded on his sister. "That was before! When I thought that they'd end their childish ways and come to their senses and now this _Sir_ Richard, nothing more than a blood-sucking businessman sitting pretty on piles of money at home whilst our men are dying, wants to marry _my_ _daughter_, my daughter who was to be a fine mistress of all of this!" The ladies jumped as Robert stood up from the table. He stood, breathing heavily. "...And need I remind you Rosamund, that it was _you_ who planted the idea for Mary to refuse Matthew in the first place."

And with that, he pushed his chair in and stormed out of the dining room leaving the six and an ever-present Carson, speechless.

* * *

><p>"Have you calmed down or should I return later?" Cora asked, standing at the library threshold, sighing at what a pitiful picture her husband made, gloomily sat in his armchair, tumbler in one hand.<p>

His eyes were clouded over. "Richard Carlisle," he drawled as if testing out the words, "...bloody Richard Carlisle."

"Robert..." Cora said wearily, coming to the perch on the arm of the sofa.

He finally looked up at his wife. "I can't believe that you're happy about this." He said bitterly.

She scoffed. "You think I'm happy about this?" She said incredulously, starting to get quite annoyed with her husband. "That it pleases me to think that our daughter is marrying a man barely younger than her own father? A man who doesn't have the security of an estate, who is reliant on stocks and shares? I don't know anything of his character or his family, for all I know he's a divorcé-"

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, not in the mood to hear his wife's rants. "Yes, alright, Cora-"

"No, Robert!" She said, determined. "You've been holding out for Mary and Matthew to reconcile, hoping that Lavinia was simply the consequence of young people feeling adrift during a war, as we all did! But it isn't meant to be...Matthew's moved on and we encouraged Mary to do the same. Now that she has, you shout at her! Like it or not, Sir Richard is Mary's choice and _you_ have to respect that. You need to apologise Robert...before she walks out that door, marries that man and we never see her again. Do you want that?" Cora demanded of him.

"Don't be ridiculous, she's my daughter, always will be, and I love her." He threw back the rest of his drink.

Cora's gaze softened and she came forward to kneel on the ground before her husband. "I know you do."

He sighed and tried to grasp at straws. "But, I don't see why she cannot wait...after the war-"

"Robert." She stopped him, resting a hand on his knee. "It's all good and well to talk about _after_ the war, but we don't know when that'll be and she can't live in limbo until then. After the war, there won't be enough good men to go around and Mary won't be any younger. I don't want my daughters to become spinsters, darling. She wants and needs a respectable husband who can provide her with the comfort to which she's grown accustomed and who isn't boring and agrees with everything she says. It's plain that they get along well, and she'll have an opportunity to be a wife, a mother-"

The corners of Robert's mouth twitched at that. "People always think she's hardest but she's the softest and most loving underneath. Mary will make a wonderful mother." He said softly.

"Yes, my darling, she will." Cora agreed, and kissed her husband lovingly on the cheek.

"What, may I ask, was that?" Robert and Cora spun around to see an irate Dowager Countess, all in lilac, sweep into the library. Cora sighed inwardly.

"Mama!" Robert tried, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Cora has already-"

Violet waved her cane in the general direction of the main staircase. "Your daughter is upstairs having to be comforted by her sisters and Rosamund! You have managed to cause such an uproar that Edith is jumping to Mary's defence and the last time either of them defended the other was before the turn of the century!"

Robert stood up at that, assisting his wife to her feet. "Mary's crying?" He asked, concerned.

"Crying?" Violet frowned, that notion hadn't even occurred to her. "Of course she's not crying; she's a Crawley." This time, he did roll his eyes. "But she's still distraught beyond belief!"

"I already plan to apologise Mama, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"Oh," Violet said, surprised – and a bit disappointed – that she didn't have a fight on her hands to convince him to see to his daughter. "Well, there you go." She sniffed, before coming to sit down on the sofa. Cora and Robert looked at each other, resigning themselves to the fact that their guest had no plans of leaving soon, and sat down. "So, Carlisle's the man for Mary, then?"

"So it would seem." Cora said diplomatically.

Violet sighed dramatically. "I always did think the chance of her reuniting with Matthew was slim," Cora nearly choked at that, "but one always holds on to a little hope, I suppose." She looked at Cora hard. "So...this whole business with Lavinia should best be put to be bed."

Cora's eyes widened at her mother-in-law's complete turn-around. "But you were so adamant...I believe your words were 'the truth will out'?" She said dryly, ignoring her husband's questioning gaze.

Violet bristled. "Mmm...well, some things are better left unsaid, I think."

Robert raised an eyebrow at that. "A saying for every occasion, Mother?" Violet's merely held her head up high, refusing to take the bait. He turned to his wife. "Do I want to know about this so-called 'whole business with Lavinia'?"

Cora sighed. "No, probably not, we've all had enough shocks for one day though, don't you think?

Robert hummed in agreement. Violet smoothed down her dress. "You'll have to invite him here, have a little celebration to announce the engagement, nothing too vulgar what with the war...it's not like you will have enough space for something grand anyway," glaring a little at her daughter-in-law for allowing her former pride and glory to be turned into a convalescent home, "...you should serve duck, he mentioned he was very fond of it...do you know if Mary wants an autumn wedding?"

Robert blinked. "Mama, were we at the same dinner? I'm still shocked that they're to be engaged."

Cora patted her husband's arm affectionately and smiled at Violet. "It's all sinking in."

Violet rolled her eyes, wondering why it was suddenly so fashionable to constantly think about how one felt. "Fine. Once it's _sunk_, let me know what colours you'd like for the engagement party, I think it's best that I choose the flowers, don't you?"

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><p><em>Dear Richard,<em>

_I am so sorry in being remiss with my reply, but this last week has been hectic what with the transformation taking place at Downton. It is to be a convalescent home for recovering soldiers. Granny is terribly put out by it all, and Mama and Mrs. Crawley have had a couple of minor arguments, but I think it's important we all do our bit. Sybil plans to give me a little training so I know how to help the soldiers if there is a problem and to encourage them not to close themselves off. One cannot imagine what they have been through. How is London? It must be ever so hot so I cannot say I long for the city, but I do miss your company dreadfully._

_In answer to your question, what you asked me at the train station, it is a yes. I accept your proposal, whole-heartedly. I am sure that you are very busy at the moment, but if we are to be engaged, I am afraid you must return to Downton for Papa will not be content until you have asked his consent. It would be a lie to say that he was not shocked by the suddenness of it all, but this evening he assured me of his love and that he only wishes to see me happy. That responsibility falls to you, I hope you are ready!_

_Granny and Mama have decided to hold a small gathering in our honour, nothing too ostentatious, but I hope it will be to your liking. Now that you are to be my husband, everyone wishes to get to know you so much better. I pray this letter finds you well and I do not doubt that I shall be enjoy being married to you. It is like you said, we will make a good team, you and I._

_Yours,_

_Mary._

_P.S. Asking Papa's permission will be fairly painless, but I warn you that you'll have more trouble with Carson._

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><p>TBC...<p>

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much for all your favouriting, and reviews! If you could leave a few more reviews, they'd be much appreciated! They're what a writer lives for! :) Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Five:<strong>

"Sybil, enough." Cora said firmly, as she walked out of the Sun and into the house.

"But Mama, you cannot expect me to go every week, not when I'm needed there!" Sybil continued, passionately.

Edith sighed, bored, having heard this argument all the way home. "What are you doing now?" She frowned, as Sybil hastily took off her gloves and hat.

"I'll have to change here...I don't want to keep Doctor Clarkson waiting any longer." She said, distracted as she fiddled with her gloves.

"You plan to go there, now?" Cora said incredulous. "This is ridiculous, you cannot work like this!"

"I _want_ to work!" Sybil raised her voice to match her mother's, fed up with no one taking her nursing seriously.

Cora ignored her and turned to her husband. "Robert, tell her." But she was left rolling her eyes at his lack of response. He was too busy chatting happily away with his eldest, still eager to put right his original response to the news of her engagement the week before. Seeing Mary smiling as she talked to her father and wondering how more moments they would share as a family of five, Cora breathed a deep sigh and lowered her tone. She turned back to Sybil. "...Fine, but with regard to expecting you to go every week, I can safely say that yes, I do." She held up her hand to silence the retort she knew was coming. "On a Sunday, we go to church as a family and that is that."

"Why don't you understand? Mama, it's alright for you but I'm _needed_!" Cora had the good grace to look insulted at that. "I should be at the hospital, not church! I'd much rather save their lives than pray for their souls-"

So much for staying calm. "And I am praying for some patience! Ever since you've spending your days at the hospital and with Cousin Isobel, you've been more insolent that I care for, young lady!"

Robert finally looked up at the raised voices to see Sybil, angry and red in the face, and Cora staring icily back at her youngest. "Do we have to argue today? It's Mary's day today." Edith scoffed at that; Cora rounded her glare on her husband. He sighed wearily and turned to Sybil. "Sybil, I want you to apologise to your mother and do what she says."

"Papa!" Sybil pleaded, almost stamping her foot.

Mary came forward, having half-listened to their conversation, and rested a gentle hand on Sybil's shoulder. She smiled uncomfortably; mostly on one side of the argument or the other, Mary was unused to being the diplomatic sister. "I understand your concerns Mama and Sybil should have asked you before agreeing to be there on Sunday, but if she's made a promise to help today, then she really must go." Sybil looked up gratefully at her sister and then with expectance at her mother.

Cora looked hard at Sybil. "This is the first and _last_ Sunday that you work, do you understand? Sundays are to be spent with your family and cherishing their company, whether you like or not."

Sybil thought to argue more – and ask how supposedly one could cherish something they had been forced into - but one look from her father forced her to smile and thank her mother graciously before practically running up the stairs in order to change into her uniform.

"Well," Robert said smiling, trying to brighten the atmosphere, "...we'll certainly have to do some cherishing around here in the weeks to come, for our dear Mary will soon have flown the nest and have a home of her own." He wrapped an arm around Mary and squeezed her tightly.

Edith raised an eyebrow. "Are we sure? They're not even officially engaged yet."

"Oh pish! Sir Richard phoned me yesterday and said that he'll be here tomorrow." Robert said, still smiling. Mary masked her surprise and her annoyance that neither her father or Richard felt the need to tell her when he was arriving.

"And every day is to be Mary's day until when? The wedding?" Edith continued.

Mary smirked. "If you like."

"That'll make a change." Edith said snidely.

"Girls," Cora said patently, "...like your father said, let's not argue today."

"Oh let's!" Robert said, giving his daughter a last affectionate squeeze before dropping his arm down. "I want us to be the family that I know and love before Mary's married and _that_ would be impossible without Mary and Edith threatening to kill each over dinner or throttle one another over a dress!" So buoyant was their father's mood that his daughters' and wife shared a smile.

"A sign of affection, Papa?" Edith grinned.

"Undoubtedly dearest," he turned to Mary again, and smiled softly. "To think, I am to live a father's greatest dream and worst nightmare in walking a beloved daughter down the aisle..." Edith looked at him pointedly; her father rolled his eyes. "I said _a _beloved daughter, I'm well aware that I have three of you..." He grinned cheekily at Cora. "Just leave me out of the wedding preparations, I beg you!"

Mary smiled – a little nervously, her father's continued speech of the wedding and marriage made it all seem almost too real – and shook her head in wonderment. "You've certainly changed your tune."

"Not at all!" He said, still grinning. "I simply didn't know how to whistle it." He kissed Mary on the cheek, in reassurance. "You're getting married and I'm proud of you," he said, matter-of-factly, "and I love you and I want you to be happy..._and_ I'll see you for dinner." Smiling again at his family, he strolled out of the room towards the library and his inner sanctum.

Mary shook again. "I don't think I've ever seen him like that."

Cora shrugged, smiling. "Well, he's starting to feel useful, what with Downton's transformation half-complete, he can finally talk to the soldiers, let them tell their stories and offer support. General Strutt will be here tomorrow, which is an honour and Matthew will be with him," she gave Mary a wary side-glance, but her daughter gave nothing away, "which always puts a smile on your father's face and Rosamund's finally left us in piece and had the good courtesy to take your grandmother with her for a week or two..." Mary and Edith glanced amusedly at each other, feeling their Papa didn't feel quite the same way about Aunt Rosamund and Granny as their Mama did, "...oh and, let me think," Cora grinned, "his oldest daughter has finally found a man worth marrying, that might make your Papa pleased, might it not?"

Mary smiled graciously, aware that her parents were over-compensating with regards to their enthusiasm, feeling guilty about not being as pleased about Mary's choice of husband as they should be. Nevertheless, she appreciated the effort. "It might do indeed, Mama."

Cora kissed both her daughters on their cheeks, sighed wistfully and started to ascend the stairs. "Heaven help me, but I think I'll miss it when the sound of you two bickering isn't filling this house?"

Mary turned to her sister, raising an amused eyebrow. "And you Edith? Will you miss it?" She said _it_, but the _me_ was implied.

Edith looked surprised for a moment, but sniffed, indifferently. "Me? I can't wait until you leave...I think I might have your room." Mary went to say something spiteful, but the warmth in her sister's eyes stopped her. Edith began to follow her mother up the stairs.

"Have my room?" Mary said dramatically, finding her voice; Edith paused on the stairs. "Over my dead body, Edith Crawley!"

Edith titled her head, thoughtfully, her eyes betraying her amusement. "That could be arranged."

* * *

><p>Sprawled on the library sofa, not particularly in a lady-like way but too alone to care, Mary could put her own life to the back of her mind as she delved into the world of <em>Emma<em>. Her favourite Austen, Mary was able to mingle with the flirtatious Frank Churchill, the pretentious Mr. Elton, the insipid Miss Bates and all the rest of Highbury. _And_ Mr. Knightley, she sighed contently, as he entered the fray of it all. So very good but sometimes righteous to the point of obnoxious, Emma did not realise the love of her life had been under her nose the whole time-

Mary snapped the book shut. Enough reading for one day. Espying a uniformed Thomas with her back to her in the garden, she rolled her eyes in annoyance as she saw him smoking. Mama would have a fit to know someone had been smoking so near the parlour doors. Abandoning the book, she went outside.

"Thomas, I know that you believe yourself to be in charge here, but I'm afraid it's not..." She trailed off, as the gentleman turned around and revealed himself not to be Thomas. He had black hair like their former footman, but had chocolate brown eyes similar to her own. He was taller as well, and attractive, but in an understated way.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked politely in a refined tone.

She gestured towards his cigarette. "You cannot smoke that here."

"Oh, would it displease the Lady of the house?" He smiled, trying for humour.

She raised an eyebrow. "If by the Lady of the house, you mean to say my mother, then yes."

His eyes widened for a moment at that before he smiled graciously and stubbed it out on the grass. "Then, you must be Lady..." He waited for her to interject but she felt like making him squirm. "...Mary?"

She folded her arms and blinked a little against the morning Sun. "A lucky guess, I suppose...I do hope that you would have put that cigarette out just as quickly if I'd been, say, one of the maids or a nurse?"

He smiled, looking less light-hearted for the first time. "You think me a snob...after the things I've seen, I'm not a snob, I'm just a pebble on the beach...I'm nothing."

She frowned, concerned at his attitude but didn't contradict him. "So, shall I call you 'nothing' or do you have a name?"

He barked out a laugh at that, his good mood seemed to return within an instant. "Captain James Prescott, my lady." He tipped his cap to her.

She looked him over. "Well, I don't see a limb hanging off, so what is the matter with you?" She sounded callous even to her own ears, but she felt anxious about seeing Richard and Matthew and did what came naturally to her, an air of bored and unpleasant indifference. He didn't seem shocked or hurt by it though, only bemused.

"You should see my torso; it's less of a pretty picture. This is the first day that I've walked without assistance, actually." He said matter-of-factly.

She blinked, finally noticing that, indeed, he did not look that comfortable standing up straight. "And they've left you alone, outside and smoking?"

"Well, I'm not alone," he said, smiling down at her, "...I escaped outside when they weren't looking and, during my escape, managed to steal some cigarettes from a doctor's jacket...I am sure they are wondering about my whereabouts as we speak."

"Oh."

"Oh? Aren't you going to demand I return to whence I came?" He said, still very bemused by the lady in front of him.

She shrugged. "No. I'm not a nurse. I'm certainly not going to fuss all over you, especially when you seem quite steady on your feet. If you were to fall, I'd certainly help but otherwise, it's your life."

He nodded slowly, breathing deeply. "Do this. Shoot that. Charge here. Get up. Don't struggle. This will hurt. Try to sit up. Try to walk. Sit down." She frowned as he looked seemingly through her, he shook his head. "It hasn't been _my_ life for a while."

She could neither agree nor disagree. She felt the same, but her reasons sounded rather trite in comparison and she was ashamed to voice them. She settled for shrugging again. "Well, there won't always be a war, you'll get better and it'll be _your_ life again."

He smiled softly; she made it sound so simple. "You really believe that?"

She gave him a smile back. "I do."

"Lady Mary?" She turned to see Mrs. Hughes standing at the parlour door, frowning at her unknown companion. "Your father would like to see you in the library, Sir Richard's arrived."

Mary swallowed but smiled. "Good gracious! So soon! Yes, yes, tell them I'll be there momentarily." Mrs. Hughes nodded and, giving Prescott a last frown, departed.

"Sir Richard?" The captain spoke up.

She raised an eyebrow, tempted to tell him not to be so noisy, but she answered him all the same. "My fiancé."

He nodded, unsurprised and a tad disappointed. One conversation was hardly enough to prick a heart though. He smiled at her: just friends, then. "I'll be seeing you, then."

"Yes, I'm sure you will." She went to walk back into the house, but hesitated. Apart from turning around, she hadn't seen him take a single step, he hadn't moved a foot - not even an inch - and she wondered if he'd be able to walk back. "Do you need some help-"

"Have I fallen over yet?"

"No."

"Then, go back inside."

A stranger had never talked to her like that before, but something stopped her from retorting or refusing him. Narrowing her eyes to show her displeasure seemed to work well enough though and with that, she walked back into the house.

* * *

><p>"Papa..." She smiled at her father as she walked into the library, wiping her hand unconsciously on her dress, her palms only slightly sweating as she smiled at the library's other occupant. "Richard."<p>

"Mary." He smiled broadly at her, the best smile he'd ever given her and stepped forward, kissing her hand in greeting. "I trust you are well." He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.

"Very much so. And you?" She blushed, unused to such attention, particularly in front of a parent. Glancing at her father, she saw him watching their interaction carefully.

"Better for seeing you. I just spoke to your father." He smiled again, dropping her hand to look back at her father.

"Oh?...Oh!" Mary looked at her father too, suddenly realising. Robert came forward and kissed her on the forehead.

"Yes, oh." Robert said, amused. "Richard asked for my consent, and I have given it to him. As of now, Mary, you are engaged and the whole world may know about it."

She smiled at both of them. "So...I'm engaged." She laughed, berating herself for the little nervous shake it had, "We're engaged! How exciting!"

"Yes, I think so." Richard winked at her, ever the charmer.

Sensing the newly engaged couple needed a moment alone, Robert then excused himself to share the good news with his wife.

Richard stepped towards her again. "You seem nervous."

"Do I?" She asked self-consciously; he gazed at her intently.

"I'm nervous, too, if that helps." He tried to reassure her. He smiled wryly. "You may think me wise, but with regards to marriage, I'm as ignorant as you are...If anything, it's worse for me, being a bachelor for so long, let's hope that old dogs can learn new tricks!"

She laughed, less nervous, feeling more comfortable as the charismatic man she'd met in London seemed to come to the surface. "We live in hope!" She said dramatically.

He chuckled before turning more serious. "I have something to give you."

She looked puzzled until he presented a box for his jacket. "Ah, that."

"That." He agreed, handing it to her, apprehensively.

She opened it, warily, but a smile graced her face at the beautiful ring. She'd been worried he'd have picked something ostentatious, but it was simple in its design, although clearly very expensive, an oval diamond with a white gold band. It wasn't quite how she'd imagined her ring to be, but, then again, nothing in life had turned out quite how she'd imagined. It was beautiful though. Realising she'd been lost in her thoughts, she looked up to see him staring at her still. She smiled at his trepidation. "You did well."

"I did?" He said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank God! I had no idea what to pick, but I saw this and thought you'd like it, most expensive they had!"

She grimaced inwardly at his unrefined mention of money, but simply kept smiling. "Well, you did well."

He nodded, still recovering from his earlier nerves. "I thought that I was going to lose it on the train. I so wanted you to be pleased, it's not a good start if she doesn't like the ring, is it?" He took the ring out of the box and slid it on the appropriate finger. Rubbing her finger, absentmindedly, he kept rambling. She wasn't listening to what he was saying, but just looked at how scared, how relieved, how happy...and how _emotional_ he was. She'd never seen him like this. And then it struck her, it wasn't just about her anymore. She wasn't simply engaged to him, but he was engaged to her as well. They were in it _together_...and they were proving to be equally daunted by the prospect. Seeing him not at ease, however, seemed to calm her own nerves and she saw rather than heard his words ground to a halt as she put a stop to his caressing of her hand by intertwining their fingers and allowing their hands to fall by their sides. He fell silent and looked down at their hands and then at her.

And before she knew it, he was kissing her and she him. She felt her arms lift to wrap around his neck and his arms wrap around her waist and it...it was lovely. She'd imagined the worst, but he was a rather good kisser, not as good as Matthew-

She stopped that line of thought immediately and clung harder on to Richard in an effort to rid herself of thinking _that_, causing him to groan contently. She sighed into his mouth as his hands caressed her back, enjoying the feeling of being in a man's arms and began to lose herself it. Too late, she heard the sound of footsteps and a door handle turning.

"Oh, God!"

She and Richard sprung apart at the intrusion; her fiancé was less quick, frustrated at being interrupted. She nearly choked at the sight of her intruder.

There stood Matthew, white as a sheet, mouth agape. The déjà vu hit her like a bucket of ice cold water; she was being punished, that much was clear. Ashamedly albeit subconsciously raising her hand to cover her swollen lips, her eyes begged Matthew to do something, say something, to leave...to forgive her. All she knew was that the silence was deafening.

Richard, unsurprisingly, recovered first. "Captain Crawley, how do you do?...Or should I say Cousin Matthew now, I suppose you've heard the good news?" He smiled, holding out a hand.

Somehow Matthew's eyes seemed to widen further as he dragged them from Mary to look at Richard. "...yes, I, I'd already...Mary-" His voice seemed to choke on her name. He swallowed. "...Would you...excuse me..." Without looking back, he left and closed firmly the door.

Richard frowned, his arm dropping to his side. "What an odd fellow...mind you, I suppose it's not every day you walk in on a couple kissing like that-"

"Richard," Mary smiled, recovering from the shock and trying hard to squash any feelings of shame she felt, he was her fiancé after all, what was more natural than kissing one's intended? "Would you go to the upstairs drawing room and wait for me, I want to share the good news with my sisters...once all the beds are here, we won't be using downstairs at all."

He nodded slowly. "Where are you going?"

"...To see if Carson is happy about all this." She lied, smiling cheekily.

"Mmm, yes...I forgot how much you like the butler..." He frowned, but kissed her hand acceptingly, "...just another odd eccentricity I'll grow to love, I have no doubt." He laughed, leaving the room.

"Odd eccentricity?" She called after him. "Not in this house! Everyone loves Carson!" Seeing him gone, she all but ran out the house. If Matthew Crawley thought he could get away with behaving like that, he had another thing coming!

* * *

><p>TBC...<p>

I realise not a lot of Matthew in this, but I needed to set up Prescott and have some time getting to know Sir Richard, because I don't won't him to be this one-dimensional character we don't give a crap about, where's the fun in that! Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Well, here's another chapter, thank you for all your lovely reviews, please keeping them coming!

And enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 6:<strong>

"You don't get to do that." She said breathlessly, finally catching him up. He halted in the middle of the gravel path, surprised. She steeled herself for his reaction, clenching her jaw and standing up straight proudly, as if she hadn't just run desperately after him. "You storm off as if I was doing something wrong, but...I was sharing a moment with my _fiancé_, there's nothing wrong with that." She held her head high.

Unfortunately for Mary, all the breath left her body as he turned around; he'd never looked so wretched. "...Mary, I..." His eyes glistened; he opened his mouth to say more but didn't trust his own voice.

"I'm sorry." She said automatically. He was hurting, it was her fault and that broke her heart just a bit more. However, as soon as the apology had left her mouth, she berated herself for giving into him. He was engaged and most likely took part in the few liberties - a kiss here and there - that one could have with their future spouse, why should she not do the same?

He frowned, finding his voice again. He cleared his throat. "There's no need for you to apologise...I just...I did not expect to see that, to react as I did..."

She waved him off, not wanting to talk about what he'd witnessed and not wanting to dwell on why she felt so ashamed that he'd witnessed it. "It's not important," She said softly, "...we should have been more discreet."

He could only smile bitterly at that. "...So, you're engaged then?"

"Yes, yes I am." She said, still softly, carefully scrutinising his reaction. This was too important to get wrong, to get hot-headed over.

Something caught his eye and he stepped towards her. "Is that the ring?" She let out a small gasp as he took her hand and looked at it, rubbing his thumb across her fingers. It felt so different from when Sir Richard had caressed her hand. He was simply looking at her ring, that was all, what was wrong with that? And yet, she had to stop herself from wrenching her hand back, scared that if he stroked her fingers any longer all her deepest and darkest secrets would come tumbling out. "It's very beautiful...clearly price was no object," She grimaced, why would she care about how much the ring cost? Why did everyone seem to think she might care for that? Sensing her uneasiness, he glanced up at her, the corners of his lips twitching. "Of course, were it the Pitt diamond or a piece of scrap tin, I'm sure that you would wear both equally well." He looked back down at their hands and the ring as if searching for answers. He paused. "...I shouldn't feel like this, should I?"

She shrugged. "I've learnt that one rarely feels how one should..."

Dragging his thumb across her fingers one last time, he let her hand gently fall back to her side. He breathed a deep sigh. "I shouldn't feel jealous," he said, calmly analysing how he felt, "...and betrayed and hurt...I shouldn't feel as if I want to take that ring off you and throw it in the river, to march back into Downton and hit Richard Carlisle square in the jaw..." she smiled and he sighed again, unhappily realising again how lovely she was, "...and I certainly shouldn't feel the need to kiss you every time I see you..." He laughed humourlessly and shrugged helplessly.

She'd previously thought that she would weep with happiness at such an announcement, but instead she just felt numb, so familiar with the unfairness of it all. Her eyes fluttered closely, briefly, tired. "You have Lavinia." She said needlessly.

He gritted his teeth, well aware of that, and expecting her to say something more, what exactly he did not know. He looked back at the house, which now looked far less inviting and forced a smile on to his face. "The General and I will be here in the afternoon, your father already knows that...I stopped by to see how you all are...I suppose I can look forward to hearing your _news_ over supper." He swallowed, getting annoyed with how pathetic and moody he sounded.

Mary tried not to let his tone irritate her; she'd never said a bad word about Lavinia or acted anything less than happy at news of _his_ engagement. Then again, she thought, having accepted her love for him, she was able to create a façade; Matthew's feelings had seemed to creep up on him. It was almost pitiable. "No...I think we're saving that for tomorrow's dinner, which I have no doubt you, Lavinia and your mother are all invited to you."

"Oh, good." Matthew commented, cowering slightly under Mary's glare, abashed at his sarcasm. Smiling sheepishly, he put his hands in his trouser pockets, momentarily forgetting what he kept there. Taking his hand out again, he presented her with his bit of good luck, her little dog. He sighed, resigned. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back now."

Her eyes flew from the dog to his, startled. Sometimes, she truly wanted to scream at him. At least when she was mean, it was nearly always intentional or revealed her true feelings, Matthew seemed to be able to do the most heartless things without any ill intent at all. And all that numbness gave way to a sharp pain in her chest. Putting her hand to mouth, she began to cry. He looked surprised, she knew that he'd look like that. Tears streaming, she was unsure if she cried more for the fact that he was returning the dog or that he clearly carried it with him always.

"Mary..." He said concerned, his heart beating uncomfortably at the sight of her crying. She turned away and walked over to their bench and sat down heavily. He followed her. "Don't cry...I only wanted...surely you'd want this little fellow to go to your betrothed, to bring _him_ luck..."

She wiped at her face, angrily. "I gave it to you!...He's not fighting, he doesn't need to come back safe, _you_ do!"

"Well, I have been trying," he tried for humour as he sat down next to her, but she wasn't having it.

"Why is it all or nothing with you? Why must things be so clear-cut?...When you had your head in the sand and believed us to be good friends and nothing more, then you were happy to accept him and now...?" She shrugged, not understanding him.

"So, it's a _him_, then..." He looked down affectionately at the dog before turning to face her fully. "We do not feel for each other what _friends_ should feel, Mary." He said seriously, as if schooling a child.

"So? Why must we label it? I love you but I'm marrying another man, we can still get along, can't we? I accept what I cannot change and have tried, so very hard, to be there for you and for Lavinia." She said desperately, having nothing more left to give.

"And you can accept this? That you are to be apart from me?...That I from you?" He said, incredulously. He licked his lips nervously, but did not try to escape from the escapable. If she could say it, so could he. "...I love you, Mary..." She stopped her crying and looked at him then. "...and there's only one label I want to put to the woman I love."

She sighed, knowing the impossibility of it all but somehow feeling lighter in the knowledge that she had his love. She was not alone, anymore. They were simply star-crossed lovers, and Mary could live with that. She smiled at him – what there was to smile about, Matthew had no idea – and rested a hand on his which held the dog. "That _label_ is to belong to Lavinia because you gave her _your_ _word_," he went to speak, but stopped as she looked at him hard, "and you don't break your word, you _won't_." She said decidedly.

He looked up at the sky and felt like crying himself. "You sound so sure..."

She squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at her. "I _am_ sure, Matthew...you're the best man I know, you keep your promises, and it only makes me think more highly of you..." She closed his fingers around the dog, and he closed her eyes at the contact. "But I _do_ love you...so keep the dog."

"A token from a past love, a past life?" He said, bitter that it was _now_ that she had decided to act like honourable woman he always knew she was.

"If you like."

He shook his head, miserably. "I wish you hadn't put me on such a pedestal Mary, for then I could break it off-"

"Matthew, don't talk like that." She chided him.

"But now I must keep to my word, hmm?...If only to be the man that you wish me to be."

She nodded sadly, brushing away the last of her tears and placing her little dog into his breast pocket. "There." She tried to smile, reaching again for his hand and kissing it before leaving him to his own thoughts and returning to Sir Richard, unaware that a certain Miss O'Brien had witnessed their entire exchange.

* * *

><p>"So, you're going to be Mrs. Richard Carlisle?" Edith said, flicking absentmindedly through one of Mary's books, sitting on the end of the bed.<p>

Mary looked at her in the mirror, as Anna did her hair. "I think you'll find that it'll be _Lady_ _Mary_ Carlisle, actually... to think, I'll have to change my name." She said, resigned.

Edith smirked. "Well, if you'd married a certain somebody else, you wouldn't have had to change your name at all-"

"Yes, thank you, Edith." Mary cut her off, applying her perfume. She looked at Sybil who was simply content to sit in one of her sister's armchairs and watch her get ready. "And what about you darling, how do you feel about it?"

"Well, he's growing on me, I think," Sybil answered truthfully. "It's hard to forgive a man who's taking a sister away, but I promise I'll try." She grinned.

Edith rolled her eyes. "Sybil can never dislike anyone for very long."

"I never _disliked_ him!" Sybil said defensively, not wanting to offend her oldest sister. "I just didn't know him very well but we'll soon put that right, won't we Mary?"

"Of course, we will." Mary agreed, rising from her chair and letting Anna put on her gloves. "Ignore Edith, she's still _basking_ in what Sir Hubert had to say about her at yesterday's dinner." She finished dramatically, but her eyes were smiling.

Edith blushed a little, but carried on. "Jealous?"

Sybil looked between her sisters, taking their words at face value, never really understanding the peculiarity of their relationship. "Why must you two be so mean to one another?" Mary and Edith both rolled their eyes.

"Because only one of us can be the darling of the family and that falls to you..." Mary smiled, checking her final appearance in the mirror. "Otherwise, things would be a tad boring, don't you think?" Her sisters said nothing. Edith only shrugged. "What do you think, Anna?"

Anna grinned. "That I wouldn't dare change anything about my mistresses."

Sybil giggled and Mary smiled, impressed. "An excellent answer."

The girls turned around as their mother walked in and shut the door softly behind her. "Well, don't you all look lovely," she said, her gaze lingering on Mary, "...could you go see to the drinks downstairs, Edith?"

"Drinks?" Edith said, surprised, tossing the book on Mary's bed.

"Yes, we're having cocktails, it was Sir Richard's idea, it's all the rage in London I hear..." Cora said impatiently, "Sybil darling, would you go with your sister?"

"Of course, Mama." Giving Mary a confused look, Sybil followed Edith.

Clearly her mother wanted a private word, Mary thought, raising an enquiring eyebrow. "Thank you Anna, that'll be all."

Anna bobbed. "My lady."

After Anna left, Cora sat wearily down on a chair, trying to look nonchalant, but as per usual, failing miserably. Mary looked at her mother expectantly, finally sighing. "Well?"

"I had a very interesting talk with O'Brien this afternoon." Cora offered. Mary had to stop herself from sighing again. It was clear that her mother had married into the Crawley family. Whilst all Crawley women were quick and eager to have their opinions heard since birth, her Mama could never just spit something out. She held out her hands impatiently, waiting for her mother to elaborate. "She said that she saw you outside...with Matthew."

Mary's ears pricked at that, but she remained looking indifferent. "Oh?"

Cora narrowed her eyes. "She said that things looked quite heated between the two of you, that he made you _cry-_"

"Mama, must you listen to everything that O'Brien says, Matthew and I were having a private conversation-"

"She said that you kissed his hand." Cora finished, tired and confused by it all. She waited for her daughter to deny it, but Mary simply said nothing. She took the silence as confirmation. "Mary!"

"_What_?" She asked her mother defensively.

Standing up from the bed, Cora stared her daughter down angrily. "You are going to send me to an early grave! Everything's finally settled with Sir Richard, there's a _rock_ on your finger and you choose _now_ to declare yourself to Matthew!"

Mary scoffed. "I think you'll find that Matthew has known of my feelings ever since he walked in on me declaring these feelings to you and Granny!"

"What did he say?" Cora asked, her anger giving way to a piqued interest.

"Does it matter?" Mary pleaded, wanting to move off this subject. She made a step towards the door but her mother blocked her path.

"_What_ did he say?" Cora asked again, firmly.

She looked at her mother hard, but gave in. "...That he loves me."

Cora couldn't help the smile that broke on her face. "Oh my darling..." She breathed.

Mary raised a warning eyebrow. "Don't look at me that. I'm marrying Richard and he's still marrying Lavinia."

"Good God, why?" Her mother asked, incredulously.

Mary shrugged. "Because we can't turn back time..." Finally sidestepping a shocked Cora and opening the door. She looked back. "And not a _word_ of this to Granny...otherwise she and Aunt Rosamund will arrange to have Lavinia struck by lightning or something to that effect."

* * *

><p>"...So, can we all raise our glasses to Sir Richard and-"<p>

"Richard, please." Carlisle said graciously.

Robert nodded. "To Richard and Mary!"

A chorus of various repetitions of that went around the table and she smiled at how happy an engagement made everyone. She sipped her drink, which began to taste distinctly bitter as she caught Matthew staring at her from across the table. She wished he'd stop; he'd been doing it all evening. She smiled at Richard next to her, and blinked in surprise as he kissed her firmly on the cheek.

"Thank you for that speech, Lord Grantham," Richard spoke confidently, "...I'd just like to make a toast to Mary," she tried to wave him off, but he grinned and continued, "and say that she has made me the most happy of men by agreeing to be my wife and I cannot wait to build our lives together, I only wish your grandmother was here, then I could drag to the church and marry you right now!" Everyone laughed politely. Mary blushed, embarrassed. "Make no mistake, I know how lucky I am, that it was you who picked me...I'm sure you've had plenty of other proposals, I'm glad mine stuck!" He smiled, but noticed no one laughed at that. The sound of cutlery on plates, but then silence. All the Crawleys seemed to look at each other warily. Mary only needed two guesses as to which two individuals were being stared at the most. Glancing at Matthew from under her lashes, she saw his grimace then uncomfortable smile as he reached for his glass.

Isobel cleared her throat, eager to spare her son and Mary any uneasiness, particularly when they had been getting along so well. "So, you do plan to marry here, then?"

Robert laughed at that. "Don't question that in front of my mother, will you Cousin Isobel? Of course Mary will, all Grantham ladies marry at their village church." He smiled at Mary.

"They do?" Richard sniffed. "I thought we'd marry in London."

Mary looked up at that, she hadn't said much this evening. "London?" The notion hadn't even occurred to her. Robert raised an eyebrow at his daughter questioningly.

"Yes," he carried on. "It's not a problem, is it? My associates are hardly going to want to travel to some little village church...what's the point when we could throw a great wedding feast right in the city?...I thought your parents married in London, anyway."

Mary frowned, glancing at her parents who were looking far from pleased by both the idea of their daughter marrying elsewhere and Richard's assessment of their church. "They did, but that's different. It's traditional for a woman to marry in her own parish."

"It might be traditional, but hardly fashionable...many ladies don't do it, not anymore. Things are changing." He smiled, sipping his cocktail. Mary thought it looked silly, why couldn't he drink wine at dinner like everybody else?

"Perhaps," she continued, unfazed, "but I _want_ to marry here."

Sybil and Cora both looked pleased, but Sir Richard was not to be swayed. He looked at her, hard. "...We'll discuss this later." He told her.

Mary bristled. The tension in the room suddenly became palpable. Carson raised an eyebrow; one did not _tell_ Lady Mary anything.

"How are the servants supposed to come if you marry in London?" Matthew asked, sipping his wine, ignoring his mother's glare to stop him from interfering.

"Servants?" Richard barked, laughing. The ill-feeling towards Sir Richard increased ten-fold. Sybil was never going to like him now, Mary thought wryly, before glancing apologetically at Carson. "At _our_ wedding? I don't know about your wedding Mr. Crawley, but I hope that ours will be a little more refined."

"That's _Captain_ Crawley, Sir Richard," Robert said coldly, "and whilst the servants are not at the breakfast, they are always welcome to witness the ceremony."

"You expect me to invite the butler, the footmen, the _maids_ to our wedding?" He looked to Mary for support, but she just stared at him, quite horrified.

"They have names." Mary said, frowning.

"Let's talk about this later." Richard tried again, tired of this subject and sensing rather a lot of hostility towards himself.

She looked at him warningly. "Let's not. I'm marrying from Downton and _everybody_ from Downton is invited." She turned back to her meal, ignoring Richard's clenching jaw and Matthew's smug expression.

Cora groaned inwardly, wondering as to why it was always her dinner parties which seemed to have a less than pleasant atmosphere. "So, Lavinia, I hear that Rosamund's invited you to London this week-"

"Oh my God!" Carson gasped in surprise, as out of nowhere, a man in his nightclothes, came stumbling into the dining room. Dazed and blinking at the bright lights, the man stumbled into a side table sending a few glasses flying. Everyone turned in shock at the intruder, all the men immediately getting up. Robert came forward, furious, standing in front of a still seated Cora was too close to the man for his liking.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert demanded; the ladies gasped as the man accidentally put his hands in the broken glass and cut himself. He didn't seem to know what he was doing.

"Is he drunk?" Lavinia asked.

"No, no, I think he's...he's sleep-walking...he doesn't know what he's doing, try not to startle him." Isobel advised, standing up.

The man seemed to be crying, his eyes flitting all over the place.

"That was the good crystal!" Carson said indignant.

Cora shouted at Sybil to stay back but she stepped forward to help him; the man cowered and began to hold his head and shake. "No! No! No! Shoot this! Charge here! Stand up! Sit down!"

At the familiar words, Mary's eyes widened and she looked at the man more closely. It was Captain Prescott. He looked so different from the attractive gentleman she'd conversed with, he looked positively wild. Rising slowly to her feet and, again, ignoring her mother's pleas for another daughter to stay back, she walked towards him gently. "...James?" He looked up at that, seemingly noticing he wasn't alone for the first time. She smiled, encouragingly. "James, it's Mary."

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><p>TBC...<p>

Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

Here's another chapter, I hope you enjoy. Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 7:<span>**

Hearing his name, his eyes suddenly looked at Mary with recognition and James became aware of his surroundings. As if woken from a nightmare, he began gasping for breath and fell to the ground, crying. Lavinia put a hand to her mouth, never having seen a man cry like that before. But Mary, not to be deterred, gently came to kneel in front of him.

"...James...James, it's alright..." She tried to assure him, tentatively laying a comforting hand on his shoulder as his whole being shook with grief.

Robert turned to his daughter, shocked. "You know this man?"

"Well, I can't let Edith have all the officers to herself..." She muttered wryly, glancing at her father. She looked down at James' bloody hands. "You've hurt yourself, we should really clean that up..."

"I'll help." Sybil offered.

"No, no I think that it's best if one of the men help him back to his bed." Robert said, firmly, not wanting any of his daughters to be left with a man so unpredictable in his behaviour and silenced Sybil's retort with a glare.

"I don't remember what happened." James whispered sadly to Mary.

"Oh, don't you worry about that, let's see to your hands and then you can go back to sleep." She offered.

"It always hurts..." He whined, in pain. "...I just...I want _my_ life back."

"I know you do," She whispered, recalling their earlier conversation.

"How do I do that?" He asked desperately, Cora gasped as he grabbed on to her daughter's arms.

Mary endeavoured to stay calm. "I don't know...but at least you're alive to try...hmm?" She smiled encouragingly. She gently tried to move her arms out of his hands, his blood all over her white gloves, but his grip was like a vice.

She jumped as he laughed manically, he shook her a little. "You think I'm lucky?" He said accusingly, his eyes narrowing.

"Now, look here-" Richard said, both he and Robert stepped forward to intervene if necessary.

"Yes." Mary said calmly, but firmly. "I think you're lucky." James frowned at her conviction and loosened his grip slightly. Mary's eyes did not leave his. For her, the rest of the room had already fallen into the background. "You have to be. Everyone in this war thinks God's on their side, which means He's on no one's," she said dryly, "...and whilst I don't doubt you're a good officer, I'm sure you'd be the first to admit that it isn't _skill_ which sees you living from one day to the next..." She took his silence for agreement, "...it's dumb luck...so you're _lucky_."

His eyes blurred with tears; he blinked to let them fall. James looked imploringly at Mary. "Maybe...maybe it's lucky to be one of those who don't live to see another day...because the next day is just as shit as the last." A few of the ladies looked uncomfortable at the profanity, but Mary didn't even notice. "...I wait all day to sleep so I don't have to think about it all, but I know that, as soon as I close my eyes, the nightmares will come...surely the alternative is better, be it nothingness or paradise..."

No one spoke, as if it would break the spell which seemed to have descended on to the room. Some had spoken about their experiences in the trenches, their battalion, their duties and how they were injured, but rarely did someone speak of how they _felt_. And there was a sense that if anyone else but Mary answered him, his heart-breaking honesty would disappear as quickly as it had come.

"You _are_ lucky..." Mary repeated in a whisper. "...you have to be."

"Why?" He croaked, desperate.

She shrugged helplessly, knowing the tears were coming. "Because, if you're not lucky, if it's not lucky to be _alive_, then all of those men, who have died...who are still dying for us, for a future, for a _life_...are dying for _nothing_! If you're not lucky, then it's all been for nothing and I might as well get a gun, put it to my head and be done with it!" She said, her voice breaking.

"Mary!" Cora cried at even the thought.

Mary could feel her eyes glass over, but ignored it, she concentrated on the man in front of her. He sucked in a breath at her words and released her arms, his bloody hands resting on his lap, palms facing upwards as the pain set in. Her eyes cleared as the tears rolled down her face.

"So, you see," Mary said resolutely, hating how tearful her voice sounded, "...you _have_ to be lucky...otherwise, what's the point?"

He shook his head tiredly. "...but I don't _feel_ lucky."

She smiled shakily at that. " You're going through a war, even now, here at Downton...we all are. But one day," She tried to look brighter, suddenly remembering everyone else in the room, and wiped at her face, "...there'll be a moment...a moment where you will think, I'm glad I survived, I'm glad I made it through...where you'll think...God, life is beautiful. "

James looked wistfully at the woman before him, wanting everything she said to be true. "...a moment?"

"A moment."

And then a small smile crept on to his face. Not for long, but it made Mary's heart soar. Rising to her feet, she went to grab James' elbow and help him up, but was beaten to it by the military red which dashed before her. Where had he come from?

"Here." Matthew smiled, as helpful as ever, aiding James to his feet. "It's Captain Prescott, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is." Once he was stood, James went red with embarrassment, as he took in his surroundings – the grand dining room, all their pitying, uncomfortable faces – and realised he was in his pyjamas, pyjamas which were covered in blood. From the floor, everything had looked different, but another glance at Mary's serene face and he knew her words still held true. Mortified, he made his apologies and went to leave, but was too unsteady on his feet. Matthew and Mary reached out for him again. He'd strained his injuries and seeing blood on his hands had given him a headache.

"Mary and I will return the Captain to his bed." Matthew told Robert, sensing Prescott's anxiety starting to get the better of him again.

Sensing the same thing, Robert nodded in agreement, but gave Matthew a look which clearly indicated that Mary should not be left alone with Prescott.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Isobel inquired, as Mary and Matthew, at either side of James, helped him to the door.

"Thank you, but I can do it," Matthew smiled softly, "...my parents saw it to that I had a good understanding in medical matters."

Isobel smiled, and those few still standing, sat down again. There was a silence for a while, as everyone processed what they had just witnessed. Unused to their ways, Sir Richard soon found the silence unnerving. Pulling at his collar a little, he took a well-needed gulp from his drink. "First time I came for dinner, the butler collapsed...the second time, we are interrupted by a sleepwalking soldier...Downton manages to make my dinner parties look rather boring."

Everyone smiled politely, but remained quiet. All that could be heard was Carson, muttering to himself as he collected the largest shards of crystal.

Cora sighed. "Carson, please, leave that. Have the maids clear it up later. There are simply too many pieces, it'll have to be thrown."

Carson looked up, surprised. "But, my lady, aren't you attached to this crystal set?"

Cora raised an eyebrow. "Should I be? Who's it from?"

"The Dowager Countess, my lady." Carson said with an air of authority, knowing every piece of china and silver spoon they kept. "On your marriage to Lord Grantham."

"...oh...Carson, would you find some glue?"

* * *

><p>"Thank you for staying but you should really go home, your mother will be wondering where you are?" Mary whispered, as she quietly closed the door on the drawing room, where many officers including Captain Prescott, slept. Putting the spare bandages on a nearby tray, she sat down heavily on the grand staircase.<p>

Everyone else had long since gone to bed. After she'd cleaned James' hands – despite Matthew's offers to do it – James had started to get agitated at the idea of going to sleep and nigh on begged her to stay. He'd looked so miserable that she couldn't leave him and Matthew was certainly not going to leave her alone with such a troubled man. So, they'd made their excuses to the rest of the party and before either of them knew it, they'd spent a couple of hours, trying to stop the young man's panicking. She'd held his hand, mopped his brow as he'd thrashed about and had even sung a lullaby. In the dim artificial light, he'd looked nothing more than a scared child and she couldn't in good conscience leave him.

"That's alright, I'm happy to help, I always feel so useless when I'm here, like I'm not where I should be." He confessed, coming to sit on the step next to her. "I had no idea you were so skilled when it came to dressing wounds."

"Well, Sybil insisted that I should know." They shared a smile at that, Sybil – like all the Crawleys – could be very stubborn when she wanted to be.

He rested his forearms on his knees and looked at his hands. "And so skilled when it comes to healing wounds that are harder to heal." She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You sung to him, very beautifully I might add," She rolled her eyes. "You made sure he was comfortable, you held his hand, you didn't complain when he lashed out...what you said to him, in the dining room..." He trailed off, looking at her with complete admiration.

She blushed under his gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, that. That was nothing."

"Really? I'd think Captain Prescott would disagree there...for him, it was _everything_."

"I only talked to him."

He nudged her with his shoulder. "Stop putting yourself down. You did much more than that."

"I'm not putting myself down. I'm simply not crowing it from the rooftops. My sisters do enough of that." She finished, dryly.

"They don't crow..." He went to reproach her.

"I'm not demeaning what they do," She said firmly, in her defence, "...I'm just saying that everyone _knows_ what they do. Sybil's not content unless we all call her Nurse Crawley and Edith will tell you that she can drive a tractor until she's blue in the face," The corners of his mouth couldn't help but twitch, "...If I see someone in need, I'll help...that's the long and short of it. No one need know and no one need prattle on about it either."

He was perplexed, she could be so matter-of-fact sometimes, but relented. "Fine, but if you'll allow me the courtesy..." He paused, until she gave him eye-contact, "...Mary, I'm in awe of what you did for that young Captain this evening."

"I'm no saint." She retorted, firmly.

He wanted to roll her eyes; why couldn't just take a compliment and admit that she'd done a good deed? "I'm glad of it. How can a saint understand someone who has hit rock bottom?"

She only tilted her head in agreement. Noticing a couple of the soldiers start to stir at their talking, Matthew gestured that they step outside and grabbed her coat and his cap. He helped her put her coat on and she shivered. Whether that was due to the nights getting colder or feeling his hands on her arms, she wasn't sure. She felt a little exposed without gloves, but put on a smile to send him on his way. He was reluctant to put on his cap and she looked at him expectantly, knowing he wanted to say something. He licked his lips nervously, before finally plucking up the courage.

"You're not really going to marry that man, are you?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Matthew..."

"I'm merely asking!"

"Well, can you not." She glared at him; everyone always thought him so mature, but she knew what a child he could be.

He relented, before the bitterness took hold again. "Fine...so a London wedding, then?"

"The wedding will take place here." She smiled tightly, wishing he would drop the subject.

"Not if he has anything to say with that." He muttered sullenly. She just looked at him incredulously and he shrugged apologetically at his behaviour, realising how petulant he was being.

She decided to forgive his tone and addressed only his words. "I won't be ordered, Matthew, not by anyone."

"I'd forgot about that." He said wryly. Curiosity got the better of him and war had made most pleasantries seem absurd. "So, what is it?" She looked at him, questioningly. "The deciding factor, what has he got that I didn't?"

"Don't do this."

"I'm interested, that's all." He said, trying to keep any resentment out of his voice. "Intrigued, if it really has come down to the money."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "How is it that you go from being in awe of me to being this cruel?"

He looked down at the ground, hiding his embarrassment. He didn't know. War had changed him, there was no doubt about that. But knowing that Mary loved him and realising that he loved her and yet they were both to marry other people made him want to scream. He was doing his duty for king and country, but what was the point, if at the end of it all – if he survived – he wouldn't even be able to come home to the woman he wanted. Matthew suddenly empathised a lot more with the restless James. He, too, felt his life was out of his hands and didn't know how to get it back.

"...I suppose, it's like what you said to Prescott...I'm still waiting."

She frowned. "Waiting for what?"

"That moment...where I think, _God_...life is beautiful."

His eyes caressed her face desperately and she couldn't look away. Her heart jumped at the thought that, just _maybe_, maybe life could be beautiful...with Matthew. She stopped herself. She shouldn't think like that. But at such an admission, she had to give him something. One truth deserved another.

She breathed deeply. "...It was never the money, not really...I was keeping, _am_ keeping...a secret from you and I couldn't let you marry me in ignorance, only I was too afraid to tell you...I think it was easier to let everyone believe me greedy and shallow than a coward."

"But you've told _him_?" He clenched his jaw at the thought that she would trust Carlisle over himself.

"No. You need trust and honesty to make a marriage based on love work and he's not marrying me for love. I know that, that's not why I'm marrying him either...in the end, I loved you too much to marry you with the secret hidden, but I knew if I told you, the dream would be over." She shrugged, resigned about the past.

"It ended all the same, anyway." He tried to make her see sense, to see how different things could have been.

"Yes. But I can live with you thinking me a snobbish and heartless woman but not a...the alternative." She shifted on her feet, uneasily.

He wanted to press her, but didn't. It suddenly occurred to him that he was scared to know. Perhaps, another time. Sighing, he nodded acceptingly and looked away.

"As you know, I'll have to leave the county tomorrow with the General, and then a week later, I'll be in France again. However, Lavinia mentioned that you and her were going to Ripon in a few days...I thank you."

"What for?" She said, grateful for his moving on to a safer topic.

"For taking her mind off my leaving." He said softly, if only it was that easy to take one's mind off that.

"Oh, well...it's my pleasure. She wants us to go dress shopping, hunt down the perfect wedding gown." She smiled.

His eyes snapped to hers, startled. "But we haven't arranged anything? Not the date, nothing. We wanted to wait until after the war-"

"It's for me, not her." She assured him. Although, by the dark look that passed over his features, it was clear that she had not assured him at all.

He blinked. "...so soon?"

She swallowed, why had she said that? This was not the conversation she wanted to have before he left. "Well, it won't be in the next few days or anything, but Richard doesn't see the point in waiting...and neither do I."

"...So, if I return, I am to find you a...a married woman?" He could feel his breath quicken.

She tutted."_When_ you return, Matthew, you must have more faith-"

"Will you be married?" He demanded.

"I don't...we won't see you for a month or two, at least...I, that is..." She stared hard down at her feet, before finally meeting his gaze. "...I may well be married, yes."

His eyes would not leave her face. "No."

"No?"

"No!"

She frowned. "Matthew, I-"

He grabbed her hand. "Please, I'm asking..._begging_ you, don't marry that man."

She tore her eyes from his penetrating gaze and looked over his shoulder. "You're being unfair. For three years, my heart has put a hold on my life, and now _you_ want to do the same. I have to marry someone and better Richard than some stuck-up aristocrat who is only able to lament the passing of old ways...I don't want to be dependent on my parents forever, I want a home of my own, to be the lady of _my_ house, I want children-"

"But _his_ children!"

She yanked her hand from his grasp, irritated. "Well, I hardly think he'll be pleased if his wife has her children with someone else!" She almost shouted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. But seeing his sorrowful expression, her gaze softened. She appealed to his reason. "...I have to marry someone."

He sighed and looked up the sky. He gritted his teeth and said the inevitable, blast any promises. He looked back at her and stood straighter. "...Me. You have to marry me. That's how it was always meant to be, how I always wanted-"

She went wide-eyed. "But Lavinia-"

Matthew wasn't to be swayed again by Mary appealing to his sense of duty. "I love her, I do. She's a wonderful woman and she would make a good wife, make me happy...but I don't want that." He took a step closer. "I want someone who berates me when I'm in the wrong, and makes sport of me when I'm being pedantic, someone who only really lets her guard down around me, who can give looks that can kill..." He swallowed nervously.

"I want _you_. I'm in love with _you_. I _choose_ _you_...please, choose me."

Mouth agape, she didn't know to say. She tried to grasp at straws. "And what of my secret?"

He didn't even hesitate. "What of it? I don't care! I don't care what you've done, I care about who you are." He dropped his cap and grasped both of her hands this time.

"The woman you love." She whispered, needing to confirm it.

"The woman I love..." He smiled. "I could do as you say and keep my word, see Lavinia as Mrs. Crawley but then I would be forced to break my marriage vows...how do you expect me to love and cherish anyone but you?"

"You do talk a lot about love, Matthew. I thought you were supposed to middle class." She tried to joke, her voice shaking as he stroked her hands.

He could feel himself breaking into grin; she hadn't closed herself off or run away. "So, there's still hope for me as an Earl?"

"Oh, the upper classes don't talk about love either. In fact, they tend not to talk at all. That's what their grand houses are for, after all, to avoid conversation. Expensive, I know, but what have husbands and wives to say to each other?" She laughed, tears on her cheeks. "I'm afraid, Mama and Papa are quite the exceptions."

"Then, we'll have to be exceptions as well." He said, determined.

"Matthew-" She was taken aback by his resolution.

"I could die in this silly war," She went to interrupt, but he spoke over her. "You know it, as do I. I'm not asking you to end your engagement for I know that if I were to die, I want those things for you Mary...to have a home of your own, to have children, all of it...but _please_, don't marry him, not whilst there's still a chance for us."

"That's not fair to him." She shook her head. "...I don't understand, you're the honourable one out of us...you're perfect, everybody thinks so!"

"Nobody's perfect, Mary...and war has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't and you, _you_ matter, more than anything or anyone else... I can't believe that I forgot that...Don't marry him, Mary, because when this is over, if I can somehow stand on my own steam and manage to say 'I do' before a Reverend..."

He smiled, kissing her on the forehead and then pulling back to look her in the eye.

"...then you better bloody be the woman standing beside me."

* * *

><p>TBC...<p>

I nicked a line from the show, if you noticed Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

Hope you enjoy! Please review! Spoiler for series 2 episode 4 and perhaps episode 5, only a little really in both cases.

**Chapter 8:**

Holding her gloves in one hand, Mary run her hand through the tall grass which stood at the edge of the wood, as she walked along its remote path. If you could even call it a path, it was just a narrow space between the trees which had been well-trodden probably by the local children. There was a nip in the air as autumn began to set in. A change in season and a change in her life. Matthew loved her. He loved _her_ and he wanted them to be together. A new beginning. She couldn't help but think it would have been more apt if they were moving into spring. Although, everything was still as it was. He engaged to Lavinia and she to Richard and, for hardly the first and most certainly not the last time in her life, Mary felt very guilty. She liked Lavinia ever so much and she had become very fond of Richard, and yet...all she needed to do was think of Matthew and that yearning, which she'd harboured all through the war and before, pushed her guilt to one side and took over her whole being. It could only be love, she supposed.

"Mary! There you are!"

Mary spun around to see Matthew near jogging down the wooded path. "Here I am." She said pointlessly.

Matthew looked at her apologetically, worried that he'd ruined her solitude. "Your father told me you'd gone walking in the wood."

She nodded, berating herself for feeling shy in his presence. "You haven't come to sing at me again, have you?"

He laughed, relieved. "No, no. I think I'll leave that to you, I said you sung very beautifully and now everyone knows it. Next time, you should sing-"

She put a hand up to stop that train of thought. "There won't be a next time; the Crawley Sisters were for one night only." They shared a smile. She looked up at the trees overhead, their leaves starting to redden. She bit her lip. "...I did say how glad I am that you're back, didn't I?"

His eyes softened. "You needn't, I know you are, as am I."

She nodded slowly; they descended into another awkward silence which left Mary wanting to roll her eyes. With her feelings hidden, they had managed to be very amicable but, now, when they were both sure of how they felt and their desire to be with one another, they were searching for things to say. "So, what do you plan to do with the rest of your leave?"

"Well, mother not being here, I've certainly got ample excuse to spend all my time at the Abbey," She blushed at his small smirk, but his face soon turned more sombre, "...but before that, I must go to London...I must break it off with Lavinia."

"But I thought you said-"

"-I know and I don't expect you to break it off with Carlisle, but whether the war ends tomorrow or in a year from now, I can't keep Lavinia hanging on. Even if things were to work out differently, I couldn't marry her in good conscience, with the knowledge that she was...second-best. She deserves a man who knows her to be the only woman for him," He looked down at his feet, bashfully, "...as I know that you are for me."

Ignoring how pathetically happy his words made her, she raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You to break it off, and me to string Richard along...alas, the honourable Matthew has returned, you'll put me quite to shame!"

"We could just put it down to you being a better liar than I am." He grinned sheepishly at her insulted expression, "...well, you did manage to convince me of nothing more than platonic affection for nigh on two years."

She shook her head, pretending to patronise, playing with her gloves. "Oh Matthew, that has less to do with me being a good liar and more to do with you being completely oblivious." He raised his eyebrows but smiled broadly. "Everyone knew that I was, _am_ _still_, in love with you and told me to speak up but I didn't dare. Now that they think things are settled with Richard...well, let's just say you'll be lucky if I'm still around to marry after you get back from leave again. Papa will skin me alive."

He frowned. "He'll be thrilled."

"Of course, but he'll still kill me over it all."

He smiled and took a step closer. "The war's going to end soon, I think."

"You said that last year." She muttered wryly, smoothing down her skirt and ignoring how her heart beat faster at him being so near. She sighed, irritated, at how he affected her so.

"I know, but one should be hopeful."

She sighed again, this time at his eternal optimism. Every day he seemed to be reverting more and more to the Matthew she'd known before the war, before the failed proposal. "I don't want for you, for _us_, to be disappointed...the higher the hopes, the further they fall...I might be an old lady before the war ends."

He put her cynicism to one side. "Oh God, it'll be like marrying Cousin Violet."

She feigned horror and slapped him playfully on the arm with her gloves. "How dare you! I'll have you know that my grandmother is quite the catch!"

His eyes sparkled with humour, as he grabbed the arm that smacked him and pulled her closer. "I don't doubt any eighty-year old man would be lucky to have her, but I notice you don't refute that you'll end up like her."

She swallowed, very aware that they were merely an inch or two apart. "As I said, I don't want for you to be disappointed..." _Ever_. She hoped her eyes spoke in earnest, but she couldn't help but finish with a playful smile. "So if you do wake up in fifty years and find it's Granny staring back at you, don't cry to me about it."

"I wouldn't dream of it, darling."

At being called darling, her face broke into the most brilliant smile. And that smile was his undoing. The next thing Mary knew, his lips were on hers, coaxing her mouth to open. Her gasp caused him to groan and pull her closer – if that was even possible - with one arm still holding hers gently and the other possessively around her waist. Perhaps he wasn't the same Matthew from before the war, she briefly thought, as his tongue danced with her own. He'd certainly never kissed her like _that_. Still shocked by such passion from her dear sweet Matthew, her arms were still held up, gloves in one hand and the other unsure where to rest. He pulled back, his eyes clearing from a drunken haze, guilt immediately written across his face. His arm unwound from her and he searched her face for a reaction. Mary could only stand there, wide-eyed, breathing heavily at his display of affection.

"...Sorry, that was presumptuous of me, we should wait, of course, until I'm a free man, until-"

His voice forced her own to return. She reached out to take his hand. "You took me by surprise, that's all...Do you realise that the last time we kissed was almost four years ago?"

He licked his lips nervously, but smiled as he felt her hand fit perfectly in his own. "Four years?...Golly, at this rate, by the time we finally do marry, you really will look like Cousin Violet!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but his apology was silenced as she flirtatiously put his arms back around her waist and looked at him beseechingly for another kiss.

* * *

><p>"Good morning Lady Mary, and how are you today?"<p>

Mary smiled, seeing James as soon as she walked into the library, sitting contently with tea and a book. "Very well, and yourself, Captain?" She went to the bookcase and put back _Emma_. She didn't mind reading it now.

"All the better for seeing you, my lady. Would you like some tea?" He put his book to one side and began pouring her a cup, not bothering to wait for her answer.

Amused, she sat opposite him. "Go on then, you've twisted my arm again...and I really wish you'd simply call me Mary, it's not as if you show me the respect due a lady anyway," she smiled wryly, "...milk, no-"

"-no sugar, yes, yes I know. We've been taking tea together for many weeks now, I'd be a sorry host if I couldn't remember how you take it," he grinned as she rose an eyebrow at his usual impertinence, "...my lady."

She narrowed his eyes, but couldn't help smiling back. "Host? And there was me thinking that it was _I_ who lived here."

"Indeed, but I'm the one who pours the tea." He passed her the cup graciously.

"Ah..." She smiled in thanks and took a sip, before leaning over a little to see what he'd been reading, "...what are you reading?"

"_Dr._ _David Livingstone's Africa._"

She frowned. "Why on earth would you would be interested in Africa? "

"Why not? You know, I woke up this morning and I thought about what I want to do when I leave Downton." She looked at him questioningly. "Explore. I want to see the world, soak up as much of it whilst I have the opportunity. So, I went to the bookshelf and chose at random. And, Africa, it is! I've decided on Rhodesia. I want to walk alongside the Zambezi River and stand over the great gorges of Victoria Falls. You should come along, it should be quite something!" He said, authoritatively.

She titled her head, impressed. "I don't doubt it would be, but it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for you and I to go gallivanting off to Africa together."

He shrugged, acceptingly. "Perhaps not. But promise me that you'll force Sir Richard to show you the world and take you on the most wonderful adventures."

She nearly spluttered at the mention of Sir Richard, but smiled politely."...I promise you to do my best to have lots of adventures, yes."

He nodded, satisfied. "Good. You deserve it, after saving my life-"

"Not this again." She looked up impatiently.

"I mean it!" He insisted, waiting for her to look at him again "...I take things one day at a time and some days are worse than others but...I didn't think I had a future at all before _you_. You waltzed in and now I'm making all sorts of plans, what you said to me-"

"I wish I'd kept my mouth shut now!" She tried to joke, embarrassed.

"Well, yes, now it's starting to be a little trying," She rolled her eyes at his familiar cheek and grin, "but at the time, it was most..." He trailed off a little, frowning and staring at her intently, "...appreciated."

She raised an eyebrow at his searching look. "What?"

He titled his head, still looking. "Nothing. You just look different today...I can't put my finger on it.

She felt herself going red under his gaze. "Different in a good way, I hope."

"Yes, yes..." He affirmed, before his frown lifted. "I, why...you're smiling!"

She blinked. She didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. "I _can_ smile."

"You can, very prettily," He quickly amended, "...but never usually this much..." He smiled softly; even when affronted, she looked so content. "Why _are_ you smiling?"

She sipped the last of her tea and placed it down. "I think I'll leave you to rest now." She stood up to leave, trying to look haughty.

"You didn't answer my question." He grinned, drinking from his cup.

"Goodbye, Captain Prescott."

Mary went to leave, but was quickly stopped in her tracks by her grandmother, cane in hand, looking somewhat flustered. Her eyes lit up as she saw her eldest granddaughter. "Ah, Mary, thank God, I've found one of you. So many other..." Violet's eyes flicked in disdain to a nearby James, "...people about, searching for a Crawley is like searching for a needle in a haystack."

Mary glanced at James, glaring at him to stop grinning so. "Of course it is, is there something in particular you wanted?"

"Oh, I was hoping to find your father, let him know my dear friend Lady Harton will be paying me a visit. You know, Lady Harton? Her son would have made Rosamund an excellent husband, but she was always so particular and was forced to pick with Marmaduke before she ended up on the shelf...a businessman with no real breeding I might say..." Violet digressed, trailing off uncomfortably as she realised the comparisons that could be drawn from her daughter and granddaughter's positions. She changed the subject. "...what's that on your face?"

Choosing to ignore her grandmother's comments, she wiped her mouth delicately with her fingers. "Hmm? Is it gone?"

Violet frowned. "No, you still doing it."

"Granny?"

"You're still smiling."

Mary clenched her jaw, vexed. Stopping herself from rolling her eyes, she didn't dare look at James who she knew to be laughing into his tea. "Anyone would think I'm as miserable as sin, what's wrong with smiling? You should try it, Granny, it does one the world of good."

Violet blinked, not caring for Mary's tone. "I do, when the mood takes me, that last film of Mr. Chaplin was very amusing."

"There we are, then." Mary smiled, not wishing to argue.

"Have you and Sir Richard set a date?" Mary swallowed in surprise. "Oh, I see that wipes the smile right off your face. I know," Violet patted Mary's arm sympathetically, "being married in London is as foul an idea for me as it is for you. I forgot to bring it up at the engagement part. I should have been here when he visited the time before last and convinced him of the merits of marrying at Downton." Violet briefly looked round to see who else was in the room. "Your mother is so ill-equipped to deal with such situations. They need to be dealt with _sensitively_."

Mary tilted her head; sensitive and Violet Crawley didn't exactly go hand-in-hand. "Well, I was hoping to wait...a little while longer at least. Sir Richard hasn't been able to get away, but I promised I'd see him in London, so I'm sure we'll..." She looked down at the ground, scared her grandmother would see right through her, "...just don't make any plans yet, Granny."

Violet frowned and looked at her granddaughter more inquisitively than Mary cared for. "...Why ever not?"

Mary tried to look nonchalant and shrugged carelessly."...Who knows what the future may bring."

Violet looked unconvinced but said nothing. She sighed dramatically. "I'm still not sure I like him yet, he'll have to persuade me. I mean, this whole plan of him buying an estate when the markets are flooded, it's in very poor taste. I also read somewhere that he was hoping to start a newspaper in America."

"Yes, he did say something to that effect."

"Doesn't that concern you? Surely, you don't want to live there!" Violet complained, startled by Mary's lack of interest. "I realise it's where your mother grew up and I suppose one might be intrigued by that sort of thing, but there's a good reason why she left!" She leant forward to whisper. "...It's _America_."

"I wouldn't worry about that..." Mary smiled graciously, impatient for the day that she could reveal to her all that she had no intention of marrying Sir Richard. "...like I said, who knows what the future may bring."

* * *

><p>"Robert, don't be so tiresome-"<p>

"Mother, it's out of the question, surely you can see that." Robert sighed at Violet, sitting across from him, keen to move conversation on to pleasanter things.

"But I want Lady Harton to see Downton at its best, how can she when it's this..." Robert and Cora rose their eyebrows as the Dowager Countess gestured around, wearing a common look of distaste, "...cluttered? She'd never let me hear the end of it, of how I opened my house up to strangers?"

Cora tried not to choke on her wine. "_Your_ house?"

"But Granny, there's nowhere else to put the officers!" Sybil tried to reason. "They _need_ to be here, to recover."

"Unless you were to put them in the Dowager House." Edith smiled wryly.

"Why I never! That-" Violet started, taken aback.

Robert put a hand up to stop his mother getting too heated. "We can't simply halt Downton's war effort and risk the men's recuperation so you can show off to Lady Harton." He argued rationally.

"Show off?" Violet repeated, insulted. "Don't be ridiculous..." Robert started to sigh in relief as his mother fellsilent; his relief was short-lived. "...It's only that Downton is so much lovelier than Bortmore House, she knows it as well as I, but you simply can't tell with all these beds about the place..." She looked at her son, insistent. "Can't you put the men outside? After all, the weather seems to be holding-"

"Granny!" Sybil near shouted, appalled.

Matthew leant over to Mary, both having kept quiet during the exchange, enjoying sitting next to one another at dinner. "Whether at war or peace, the people of Downton remain quite the same, I see." He whispered, smiling.

She smiled back. "We try. The Germans could be at our front door and we'd still be able to rely on Carson reminding them of their manners and Granny clucking her tongue that the house was full of foreigners."

He watched Mary intently, drinking her wine. "Mmm, something constant, I like that."

"Stop it." Her eyes flicked to the rest of the table.

"What? I'm not doing anything." He said, innocently.

She rose an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. "Papa's starting to get suspicious at how well we've been getting on."

"We've been getting on well for years now."

"We have, but not with you looking at me..." He grinned as she struggled to find the right words, "...in that way."

"And what way would that be?" He asked, flirtatiously.

She went to respond, but another quick glance at her interested father stopped her. She looked down, abashed and spoke more seriously. "I know you're speaking to Lavinia tomorrow, I've decided to speak to Richard too..." Matthew looked a little surprised at the change in topic, but nodded. "It's been long enough, I feel so wrong keeping up the pretence, I've put everyone off as long as possible but they all want to start planning a wedding now and, if I don't say something in the near future..." She trailed off.

"I understand." He smiled, squeezing her hand under the table.

She smiled at the contact, wondering how she could have ever imagined her life without him by her side.

"You always do."

"Excuse me, my lord, there's a telephone call." Carson addressed the Earl.

"Aah, yes," Robert wiped his mouth with his napkin, relieved to be spared his mother's ongoing pleas to temporarily relocate the officers, "I'll be right there."

"Oh, it's a call for Lady Mary, my lord." Carson amended, smiling at Mary.

Mary hide her surprise, but smiled graciously, ignoring everyone's, including Matthew's, curious looks and thanked Carson. She made her way quickly into the hall and nervously, for she still preferred to send telegrams instead of using the telephone, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"_Mary?...It's Richard_."

Mary swallowed, surprised, certain he'd be able to hear the guilt in her voice."Richard...how are you? I was just thinking of you, in fact, I plan to come to London-"

"_I know, Mary_." He cut her off, softly.

"You know?..." She tried to sound none-the-wiser. Had she and Matthew really been that obvious? Had someone seen them together and the news had travelled back to Richard? He did have spies everywhere, after all. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. "What do you know?"

"_More than you'd like, I don't doubt."_ He answered, cryptically.

Her eyes shut, terrified he could hear her heart wildly beating down the line. "...Oh?...I don't...I don't understand..."

"_I know_." She opened her mouth to apologise, for leading him on, for loving another, but his last words stopped her.

"_About you and Mr. Pamuk_."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

Another chapter! A bit more angst, I'm afraid, but please review! Let me know what you think!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9:<strong>

"-and, of course, I'm sorry and I regret it. It's a mistake that has come back to haunt me many times over, but I was young and foolish...these things happen." Mary finished, stoically.

Sir Richard lent back his chair, surveying Mary from behind his desk, comfortably at home in his office surroundings. He raised an eyebrow. "These things happen? Do you really expect the rest of good society to buy that?"

"No...but it's the only way I can live with it."

He scoffed at that."And me? Do you expect me to live with it? To spend my days knowing that my _wife_ has shared the bed of another?"

She flinched as he seemed to enjoy drawing out his words. "That's entirely up to you. I was prepared to spend my days knowing my husband had shared the bed of another, of many others...like all men seem to do." She looked at him then, confident in the knowledge that he had played the bachelor too long.

He tilted his head in agreement, their conversation having turned too candid for him to be embarrassed. He pursed his lips. "You know as well as I that it is not _men_ who are expected to be virtuous, who are ridiculed, hounded and _pitied_ if they are found to be wanting..."

"No, it falls to women, it always does..." She smiled bitterly, "but I'm not any woman, I'm your fiancée." She saw his eyes lit up a little. "So, you can either have Mrs. Bates' story of my affair with Mr. Pamuk for your headline or you can buy her silence."

"To save your reputation?" He sniffed, trying to sound nonchalant, but already knowing how he wished to proceed.

"My reputation?" She wanted to laugh, to think her reputation had been so important to her. To think that she had been worried about being called a lawyer's wife when she had already been sullied. If this story broke, Mary knew too well that it would not only be her reputation in tatters but that of her whole family. Society's doors would be shut to her mother and Edith and Sybil would never be able to make good matches. Granny would most likely have a stroke and her Papa...She looked up at the ceiling, to stop any tears. Her Papa, still none-the-wiser, would never be able to look at her again with anything other than disappointment and shame. Her future life with Matthew was falling out of her grasp and looking at Richard, her only means of salvation, Mary knew that she would not go to catch it. Her eyes started to burn with unshed tears. Love was a wonderful thing, so much better when requited, but it also made one very selfish. To marry Matthew would, not only ruin Lavinia's happiness and Richard's plans, but it would alter forever the lives of everyone she held most dear. And, if Matthew knew the truth, he wouldn't want her anyway.

"No, Richard...to save _everything_."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Sir Richard nodded and came round to perch on the desk in front of her. "Well, it's lucky for you that I've become quite used to the idea of us being joined in holy matrimony," She looked up, surprised,"...and it was awfully poor luck that the Turk died in your bed..." He conceded; Mary could only raise an eyebrow. "I'll fix it." He smiled, as relief washed across her features. "Just as soon as you've set a date for the wedding." Her face fell. He tried to not let that bother him and kept smiling. "I want this all signed and done with, man and wife."

She nodded slowly and smiled politely, understandingly. "Well, when?"

"Before the end of the month."

Her eyes widened. "Before the end of the...my mother will blow her top, how do you expect us to plan a wedding in less than a month?" She asked incredulously. "Granny will need at least two to choose the flowers."

"Make it happen." He looked at her, hard. Determined.

She swallowed. Only a few days ago, she had been planning how to tell Richard that she wanted to break off their engagement and now, she couldn't stop herself from shuddering, they were to marry within weeks. A lump formed in her throat as her thoughts strayed to Matthew again. The higher the hopes, the further they fall. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but sat straighter in her chair. "Why so quick?"

He leant forward to take her hand. "Why wait in this limbo when we could be enjoying our lives together. It'll be a fresh start, I think. This...business with Pamuk," Mary shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing as he stroked her hand, "...you were restless. You're ready for married life." He kissed her hand before walking over to his drinks cabinet. "Your parents have your sisters, for now at least...though they might always have Edith for company," Mary bristled at that, watching him pour his brandy, hearing such familiar words from someone else's mouth filled her with remorse. He glanced up at her,"...and then young Crawley will marry Miss Swire and have his own family. Thus, your family will always be occupied, Downton will always be busy, you see." He smiled reassuringly at her, walking back with his glass. She looked down at her lap; Lavinia and Matthew would have such lovely-looking children, blonde and sweet. "As a daughter though, your time at Downton, that chapter in your life, is coming to an end."

She looked back at him, uncomfortable as he stared intently, she smiled shakily. "I hadn't thought...it's bizarre to think that Downton won't always be my life."

He nodded sympathetically and sat again on his desk, closer to her. "I know, but that _is_ life...one must move on and discover things, have adventures..."

"...adventures..." She breathed quietly, smiling at the thought of James' words, before frowning. "It's just that..." She trailed off quietly, what was there to say? It's just that I'm in love with Matthew Crawley?

"Something holding you back?" He asked, still staring intently as her face slightly twitched. He sipped his drink. "Or rather..._someone_?" She looked up at him sharply. One look at him and she knew. She knew that Sir Richard was well-aware of how she felt about Matthew. He gritted his teeth before settling for a grim smile. "That yearning, those long looks and brushes of the hand, those moments which get the heart racing are the stuff of novels Mary, of lust and infatuation." He rested his drink on the table and folded his hands. She frowned, intrigued. "You never hear what happens afterwards, when the heroine and her beau have been married for fifty years, with sons and daughters, well on their way to being fat, surrounded by in-laws neither can stand..." He smiled, pleased, as she grinned a little at the thought, "I want to give you a home, an estate of which you would be mistress, to give you everything you could possibly want or need. I want you to have my children. _That_ is love, Mary." He said softly; she couldn't look away. He put a hand to her cheek. "I understand. We _all_ want what we can't have and it hurts to see past loves with others, that stab of jealousy is so common, but it is also fleeting." He took his hand away and folded his arms over his chest, his voice becoming grave. "It best be fleeting, for I won't share my wife." He smirked, then. She frowned at how quickly he went from being understanding to condescending. "You're a challenge, my dear. An alluring enigma, who goes from warm to cold with such ease. You can be just as spiteful and cruel as I can be...it's why we're meant for each other."

She inwardly flinched at his words. For so long, that was how she'd played the season. Men fell at her feet as she worked her charm, flirting and ignoring them, encouraging them to give chase. Too late, she realised that she'd played it all wrong. "Two wrongs make a right, then?" She asked, trying to smile, but only managing to grimace.

He remained sober, verging on sour, "...We'd ruin anyone else..." He bent down a little to catch her distracted eyes. "Whatever he says to the contrary..."

She met his gaze. "...He doesn't love you, Mary."

"And if you really think that he'd forgive you for allowing another man into your bed, to _have_ you, then I've made some overestimations with regards to your intelligence..." He smirked again, throwing back the rest of his drink. She simply sat there, stunned, staring over his shoulder, too despondent to notice his manipulation of her feelings. His mood suddenly lifted. He stood up, happily. "I've changed my mind. I think we should get married at Downton, don't you? It'd please your family and it's no real trouble, expense is no object." He sighed impatiently, as Mary remained silent. "You do _want_ to marry there?

Her eyes lifted tiredly to his and gave him a small smile. "...Yes. That's...it's what I'd hoped for, yes."

He clapped his hands, grinning. "There we are then! A Downton wedding, it shall be! You can even invite along your servant friends," She only nodded at that, increasingly resigned to her fate, "...see, I'm not _so_ heartless, am I?"

* * *

><p>"Matthew."<p>

He glanced up from his tea to see Mary before him. He looked at her, exasperated, nervously awaiting Lavinia's arrival and glanced around the rest of the teashop to see if she was about. "What are you doing here? Lavinia will be here any minute."

Mary grasped her bag tighter, tapping it against her leg. "I need to talk to you." She said quietly.

He sighed, putting down his cup. He inwardly smiled at how demanding she could be. "Can't it wait until after, I must-"

"_Now_, Matthew." And just like that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the shop. Alarmed, he muttered he'd be back to the waiter and walked quickly after her. Looking as if she'd stop for no one, he grabbed her elbow and gently steered her towards the small park across the street.

He tried to remain calm, but swallowed nervously. "What's going on?" He glanced at her face. "Have you been crying? You-"

"Please, stop." She gently wrenched her arm free and stopped walking to face him. Her mouth opened but it was some moments before she spoke. "...You mustn't break it off with Lavinia."

Matthew's eyes instantly hardened and his voice dropped low. "What did he say to you?"

"N-nothing, I...I just, this isn't right, this..." She was flustered at how quick he was to see through her. Why couldn't she have involved herself with stupid men? She took a breath and raised an eyebrow; Sir Anthony Strallan was looking better and better "I'm going to marry Richard, I suggest you marry Lavinia."

He shook his head and smiled humourlessly at her tone. "We're not doing this again...what did he say?"

"Nothing!"

"Then why the sudden change of mind?"

She shrugged, going for indifference. "Perhaps it's a change of heart, would you believe me if I said that I didn't love you?"

"No." He said without thought, sure of her affections. She rolled her eyes."And I'm not marrying Lavinia."

She shrugged again, this time helplessly. "She'll make a better wife than I ever could."

"Honestly, Mary! You were once the most arrogant woman I'd ever had the misfortune to meet, and now you keeping banging on about how you're not good enough for me!" A walker-by looked up at his tone of voice. Matthew clenched his jaw, annoyed at how irate he was and how she always seemed to be the cause of it. He lowered his tone. "Self-depreciation doesn't suit you, my darling, so I wish you wouldn't waste our time with it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "There's no need to be so short with me."

"There is every need!" He sighed inwardly, so much for lowering his tone. "I'm starting to get sickening flashbacks of a certain proposal. You messed me around then as well, if I remember correctly." He muttered, bitterly.

She chose not to rise to that particular bait. "Well, what do you want me to do about it Matthew? Mmm?...I _have_ to marry him."

He frowned, baffled. "You _have_ to- He knows something, doesn't it? Is this blackmail or something?"

"...It's not quite like that-"

He threw his arms up in the air. She glared at him for being so indiscreet. "Oh, dear God! Whatever it is, whatever you've done, cannot be worth marrying a man you despise!"

"_You_ despise him, you mean. He's not as bad as you think." She hissed.

"He wants to marry the woman I love." he said, as if it were obvious, "...he's the Antichrist."

"Don't be so melodramatic!"

He scoffed at her accusation. "I'm not the one who's confessing her love for one man one minute and then deciding to marry another the next!

She sighed deeply and narrowed her eyes, looking into the distance. "_Love_, is that what this is? We smile, flirt, enjoy each other and then we lose our tempers and fight...and then we do it all over again-"

He took a step closer, not liking where this conversation was going, and forced her to look at him. "That's _us_, Mary. I love you but you drive me insane. That's us, that's life-"

"I don't know that it is." She whispered.

Scared by her words, he ran a hand through his hair nervously, his cap still at the teashop. "I forgive you. Whatever he's blackmailing you over, I forgive you for it."

She shook her head, sadly. "If I don't marry him, he'll tell everything, I know it." She nodded, sure of Richard's character: fiercely loyal but vengeful if crossed. "It would ruin my family. It would kill my father," She sighed again as her voice started to sound tearful, "...and you'd never forget it."

He bit his tongue, stopping himself from making a promise he might not keep. "Perhaps not, but I would forgive you, I _would,_" he affirmed sincerely at her doubtful expression, "...I would forgive you anything."

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You say that now, but that's because what I've done...it wouldn't even have crossed your mind." She nodded again, decided. "No, let me have you like this, Matthew. It's enough."

His eyes widened anxiously, seeing her walls come up before him. "It isn't for me. I _will_ go to him. I will go to Carlisle, tell him that you love me! That you wish to marry me, not him!" He said, desperately.

"Oh Matthew, as if that would-"

"He won't marry you, I can promise-"

"Lavinia!" Mary nearly yelped, as she espied Lavinia walking towards them.

"Mary! My Gosh, what are you doing here?" Lavinia smiled in confusion, as they kissed cheeks.

"Well, to visit Richard..." Mary replied, watching the pair warily; Matthew smiled slightly at Lavinia but said nothing. Lavinia frowned at his distance. Mary glared at him to speak, but he remained mute. She smiled politely at Lavinia."...but also to visit, that is, do you remember the Honourable Francis Rhodes from the engagement party?"

Relieved at conversation, Lavinia nodded happily. "Oh yes! That seems an age ago now! She had her baby, then?"

Mary nodded. "Yes. A beautiful little boy, I stopped in to see her, she looks so content..."She glanced again at Matthew to speak up. "But Matthew had mentioned that he was seeing you so I couldn't resist!"

"Well, I'm glad. Not much longer now until we're both married and we'll be having our own!" Lavinia grinned, frowning again at Matthew's tight expression.

"...Yes, quite." Mary's eyes darted between the two.

"Last time I spoke to Cousin Isobel, she said that your mother mentioned a winter wedding?"

Mary tried not to groan at that."...Ah, in fact, it's going to be...well, sooner than originally planned..." Lavinia looked at her, questioningly. Mary swallowed, her eyes flicking to Matthew again, "...by the end of the month." She tried not to recoil as Matthew's gaze snapped to her, his fury coming off in waves.

"The end of the month?" Lavinia asked, stunned, oblivious to Matthew's expression. "Oh my...how exciting, it'll be a rush to get everything finished, I imagine!" Mary nodded in agreement, but an uncomfortable silence soon fell over them; Lavinia kept looking anxiously at Matthew.

"Well, it's quite cold out here, so I better...I'll let you two get on." Mary tried, cheerfully.

"Shall you be joining us?" Lavinia asked, hoping Mary would if Matthew was going to be in such an awful mood.

"No." Matthew said resolutely, finally finding his voice. "No, Mary's very busy and, besides...I was hoping we could go for a walk after luncheon, to talk."

Mary raised her eyebrows, but Lavinia nodded, relieved to hear him speak. "Oh, well, never mind, another time. Mind you, the next time we meet, you might be wearing a white dress and coming down an aisle!" Mary chuckled politely.

"Lavinia, why don't you go across and assure them that I haven't simply run off without paying." Matthew tried to smile. Lavinia agreed happily, said goodbye to Mary and headed across the street.

Smiling as Lavinia looked back once more, Mary glanced worriedly at Matthew. "...You're not going to finish with her, are you?"

He glared at her and chose to ignore her question. "By the end of the _month_?" He rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. "Sometimes, I loathe you, Mary Crawley." There was only weariness in his tone.

She nodded, understandingly. "Yes, well, sometimes, I loathe me too."

* * *

><p>Please review!<p>

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Glad to know you're enjoying the story, nothing puts a bigger smile on my face than a review! Keep 'em coming and enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10:<strong>

"...And why are you telling me all this?" James asked, perplexed, leaning back into his pillow.

Mary shrugged, helplessly. "Because you've been a good friend these last few months and, well I was hoping...hoping for some..." She trailed off, staring into her lap, embarrassed.

"Brotherly advice?" He offered, smiling softly.

"I've always wanted a brother." She said wryly.

"I'm surprised you want to marry either of them..." He folded his hand, tapping his thumbs. Mary frowned, questioningly; a look of amusement passed over his face. "If my only lover had died in the _process_, I doubt I'd want to take another."

She only needed to raise an eyebrow for his look to become abashed. She sighed, wistfully."...I just wish things could go back to the way they were."

James scoffed at that. "When your love was unrequited and you suffered in silence." He shook his head, confused. "Why are you so insistent on being a martyr? You are entitled to be happy, you know."

"Am I?" Mary retorted, sharply. Wisely, James said nothing. She glanced at him apologetically and sighed again at having to explain herself, to think about how she got to this point. "...For so long, it was all settled. I was to marry my cousin Patrick. We were firm friends when we were younger," Her mouth twitched up at a fond memory, "but as soon as we knew about Papa and Uncle James' plans, we'll...we drifted apart. We didn't like each other like _that_. I was so bitter about it for years and Edith hated me so because she would have cut off her right arm to marry Patrick," She said it dryly, but only now did she understand how her sister must have felt to know the man she loved was to marry another. She frowned at herself. "I've always been horrid to her. My life had been all picked out – unbeknownst to me - and I didn't like what was in my future. The only way I could vent my frustrations was...to pick on someone I knew to be as insecure as I was." Mary shrugged at him, reconciled. "I'm not surprised she blabbed to the Turkish embassy, I would have."

James shook his head firmly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sheets. "She's your sister, she loves you."

"I know that." Mary agreed, matter-of-factly. "I think I've realised it more and more since the war's gone on. We love each other, but we don't particularly like one another," She held up a hand to dissuade James from interrupting, "and that's _alright_."

He said no more on the subject, but scratched his chin, still puzzled."But you don't have to be bitter anymore. Your life is your own, your parents have allowed you to make your _own_ choices."

She glanced at the ceiling, exasperated. "My parents want to see me married. To someone. To _anyone_. Despite their pretences, they clearly don't like Sir Richard, but they realise Matthew's a lost cause."

He grimaced as he sat up a little straighter in his bed, determined to get through to her. "But Matthew _isn't_ a lost cause, he loves you. And, if war has taught me anything, it's that one only has a single shot at life, and it should be lived it to the fullest." This time, Mary opened her mouth to interrupt, but James wasn't having any of it. "Consequences be damned! Regretting the things that you've done will always be difficult, but rather that than regretting those things that you _wish_ you had done." He nodded, pleased with his advice.

She wanted to argue with him, but was stopped as she heard other men start to stir in their beds. "Do you have regrets?" She asked, softly.

"Recently, yes." James grumbled. "I wish I hadn't over-exerted myself and been given bed-rest for the next three weeks." Mary looked at him curiously as he displayed more petulance than usual. Hesitatingly, he lent forward a little and lowered his voice, "...I was going to take Nurse Harwood to the pictures next Tuesday."

"Nurse Harwood..." Mary failed not to grin at his embarrassment. "Ah...young love."

"Oh please, you're hardly so old and wise yourself." He rolled his eyes at her teasing. "Talk to Matthew."

She quickly turned sombre. "What about? I haven't seen him since our argument in London. He was in France by the end of the week. He'll have regained his senses and realised that Lavinia's a safer bet."

"You don't sound happy about that." James said knowingly, hearing the badly concealed bitterness in her voice. "Just tell him. Is your family reputation really _that_ important? Surely Lady Sybil will ruin it anyway when she's run off with the chauffeur."

She'd forgotten all about _that_. "I know." Mary sighed, tiredly. "I don't know why I bother sometimes."

* * *

><p>"Oh and don't forget Lord and Lady Franklin and...um, what was the name of that bearded Welshman who my husband liked?" The Dowager Countess frowned, holding her glasses to her eyes to scour through her address book. "We had him over one Christmas, after his wife had died."<p>

Cora looked up from counting names and frowned. "Not the gentleman with that horrid little Chihuahua?"

"The Marquis of Talbridge? No, I meant the one with the twitch, you know..." Violet said, hoping the name would come to someone.

"And the bad breath?" Edith asked, putting the last book in the shelf and returning to her chair. "That's Lord Henry Caldwell, isn't it?"

"_Harold_ Caldwell, and his breath wasn't that bad..." Cora admonished, half-heartedly.

"No!" Violet sighed, starting to get irritated, having spent the whole afternoon going through name after name. "Short, with the twitch, small beard, no dog to speak of, and insists on wearing those awful spectacles wherever he goes leaving one with the impression that they're talking to Leon Trotsky's long-lost brother," She reeled off, frustrated, "...from Swansea."

Mary blinked herself from her daze, finally taking pity on them. "I think you'll find it's Sir Jonathan Morton, Granny."

"Jack Morton!" Violet stamped her cane on the ground, happily. "Yes, that's it!"

"Oh," Cora frowned again, "...he's dead, isn't he?"

"...Ah," Violet blinked, "...well-remembered, my dear, better not put him on the list then." She smiled graciously, recovering herself. "...Now, what about Miss Delany-Barton?"

"The Duke of Devonshire's mistress?" Cora gasped, unsure as how to feel about that.

"Well, he won't want to attend without her." Her mother-in-law offered, matter-of-factly.

Edith turned to glare at her sister. "Who knew organising a wedding could be so tedious..."

Mary didn't even bother to glare back and instead turned to look out the window. At least she could tune out the wedding and leave her Mama and Granny to plan it all. A maid would put her in the dress and arrange her veil, her father would lead her down the aisle, even the vicar would tell her exactly what to say. All she had to do was smile, say 'I do' and sign her own name. If anyone had caught wind of Kemal Pamuk, it wouldn't matter because she'd already be married and Matthew, Lavinia and her family could easily detach themselves and save face. It wouldn't be so bad, she sighed inwardly, apart from a few terse words here and there, Richard had made good on his word to make her comfortable. He'd bought Hacksby Park because it was near to Downton and had persuaded Carson to be the butler. It was sweet, really. Anyone would jump at the chance to run Hacksby, as grand as it was, and Richard was to pay through the nose for Carson so that _she_ could feel at ease.

"I'm just glad that Sir Richard is being patient enough to wait a few more weeks." Violet carried on. "With the armistice tomorrow, now it won't look nearly as ostentatious to have the imported orchids." Edith raised her eyebrows in distaste.

"Imported orchids?" Cora asked warily. "We're still rebuilding after a war, some ministers are saying rationing could go on for years even. I don't think Mary will mind us using flowers from our own greenhouses." She looked to her eldest whose gaze was still being held by whatever was outside. "Mary?"

"What?" Mary snapped herself from her thoughts and forced a smile to her face.

"The flowers, darling."

"Flowers? For what?" Violet sighed, annoyed that her granddaughter clearly wasn't listening. Mary offered a half-hearted apology. "Sorry...I really don't..." Whether Sir Richard was sweet or not, the idea of talking about their wedding still left her with the taste of bile in her mouth. She swallowed. "Will you excuse me..."

Cora sighed unhappily before following her daughter out of the room. "Mary, wait!" She called, as her daughter started to run up the stairs.

"Mama, please, I," Mary closed her eyes, tiredly, holding on to the wooden handrail. "...I want to be alone."

She was tempted to let her daughter go, but couldn't. It was time they put it to rest, once and for all. "...Should I be sending these invitations?"

Her eyes snapped open. She turned around to face her mother. "Of course, you should. I'm just tired, that's all-"

"Come with me." Cora ordered, passing her daughter on the stairs. "I think I know what this is about."

"I doubt it." Mary muttered, but obediently followed her mother into her own bedroom. Mary blew out a breath, as her mother firmly closed the door. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller.

"We received two letters this morning." Cora said, with great gravitas. At her daughter's silence, she sighed exasperated. "Well, aren't you going to ask who from?"

Mary shrugged, deciding to employ her old faithful: bored indifference. "Why when you're going to tell me anyway."

"The first was from Lavinia." Her mother cut straight to the point, wishing to save the argument until later. "It's awful, she's so upset."

"Upset?" An eyebrow lifted slightly, but her heart was pounding. He didn't do it, did he?

"At Matthew having released her from their engagement." The breath left Mary's body. He did, he _had_, she never thought he'd go through with it. Cora looked surprised at daughter's shock. "You mean to say that you didn't know?"

"No, I...he really did it." She smiled, softly, involuntarily.

"Yes, he _did_," her mother confirmed, cautiously, "and Lavinia is heartbroken. She won't be coming for the armistice and she begs to see you the next time you're in London."

Mary sighed, the smile leaving her face, and bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully."Of course, she's heartbroken." She agreed, sincerely. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You mentioned a second letter?"

"It's from Matthew." Mary nodded, unsurprised. "Addressed to your father, but Papa thought it might be best from me. He confirms what Lavinia wrote, that he ended the engagement, apparently because his feelings lay _elsewhere_. He won't be coming for the armistice either." Cora stepped forward, a spark of excitement taking hold. "Is this about what I think it is? Matthew's unattached, he's survived the war...and I _know_ that he returns your affections-"

Mary broke her gaze at seeing her mother's hopefulness and smiled wryly. "You only _know_ because O'Brien imagines herself to be Sherlock Homes-"

"I've told Granny." Cora said bluntly, wanting to put an end to her daughter's sarcasm before she wouldn't be able to coax a sincere word from her.

Mary's eyes widened, horrified, her mind reeling at the possible ramifications. "_What_? How could you? You know that she'll tell Aunt Rosamund-"

"Mary!" Cora silenced her, perplexed. "_What_ is holding you back? Are you scared of hurting Sir Richard because I'm sure he wouldn't want to marry you if he knew that you were in love with someone else."

"Really, Mama." Her daughter smiled bitterly at her naivety. "You don't honestly believe that an ambitious man like Sir Richard Carlisle gives a fig about love, do you?"

"He _knows_ about Matthew?" Cora frowned, even more confused.

"Who doesn't?" Mary through her arms up in the air, frustrated. "The only one who didn't know I love Matthew was _Matthew_ and that's because he has the capacity to be so obtuse. Whilst, with matters of the heart, Richard may not indulge himself," Mary smiled morosely, "...he certainly knows which strings to pull."

"To hear my daughter speak of her fiancé such..." Cora muttered tearfully, sitting down heavily in one of Mary's armchairs. "I don't want this sort of marriage for you, Mary. And you don't _want_ to marry him either, that much is clear."

"If I were to say the words..." Mary swallowed, as her mother looked up enquiringly, "...Kemal Pamuk...would that help?"

"_Oh_, Mary..."

"He'll destroy _everything_." Seeing her mother's tears brought on her own. "I don't care about my reputation anymore, but the Earldom of Grantham will be infamous...for all the wrong reasons. Everything Papa's worked for...he'll be a laughing stock and _I _will be the cause of it all." She sobbed, pitifully. "And _Matthew_ – the dear, wonderfully decent, ever-honourable...irritatingly righteous...and oh-so-perfect Matthew Crawley – will run back into the arms of the virtuous Miss Swire, mortified for having ever been seduced by, by a...harlot...like me."

"You are _not_ a harlot!"

"I'm your daughter," Mary smiled sadly, "you have to say that."

"Yes," Cora said, determined batting her tears away and reaching up to grasp her Mary's hands, "you're my daughter and I love you so I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are _not_ a harlot. Your father wouldn't be pleased, to say the least, but he _would_ forgive you and, if you were to marry Matthew quickly and take a very long honeymoon, it would blow over." Mary shook her head, but Cora pulled on her hands for her to listen. "We've been through a war! Lost a generation of men! What matters is being happy and true to oneself...who knows, the London society of this new world might think it all very romantic..." She trailed off, trying to sound hopeful.

"Oh, Mama-"

"Do you have so little confidence in Matthew's love for you?" Mary stopped dead at the question. She let go of her mother's hands and wrung her own anxiously. "You really believe some tryst that occurred nearly five years ago, would be enough to dissuade him from sharing his life with you?" He's righteous, yes, but he's not a man who hangs on to his foolish pride." Cora stood up and held her daughter's cheek, lovingly. "...I know that you're scared, my darling, but sometimes...it takes a leap of faith."

"Funny, that's what Lavinia said about me accepting Sir Richard." Cora dropped her hand and sighed at how quick Mary moved off the subject of Matthew. "Poor Lavinia! She didn't deserve any of this! No wonder she's not coming back here, I wouldn't-"

"Yes, my heart goes out to Lavinia and it is a credit to you that your heart does also, but this is your life, Mary! When I married your father, I _hoped_ that one day he would love me and when he did, when I knew how it felt to _be_ loved and I knew that I had his, I wondered how I could have ever considered getting married without it. I'll be there to tell Papa about Pamuk, I promise you, just ...follow your heart, for God's sake, please just follow your heart."

_Matthew_. It was all that her heart said to her, day and night.

Mary swallowed back tears and breathed shakily. "Maybe, if I...I love him so much, Mama!"

"I know you do!" Cora affirmed, smiling broadly.

"He might understand?"

"Of course, he will." Her mother agreed again, wiping away her daughter's tears.

"Then I had better...wait." Mary frowned, sniffing. "You said that Matthew wasn't coming to Downton to hear the clock strike, but I thought his regiment comes in this afternoon."

"It does. He hopes to make it but he wrote that, once he arrives, he'll go straight to London because there's someone he must urgently speak with." Cora frowned as her daughter's eyes widened. "He said that if Robert wanted to know more, he should ask you."

"That pig-headed..." She trailed off, clenching her jaw.

"Mary?"

"Will you excuse me Mama, there's a train I must catch."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

Me thinks a showdown perhaps? Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again for the reviews, especially letting me know what lines you like and stuff, thanks a lot! Anyway, enjoy (angst to come, I'm afraid!)

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><p><strong>Chapter 11:<strong>

"Oh Brown, thank God, is Sir Richard in?"

The butler of 41 Colston Pace, Kensington, masked any surprise at who was at the door – as well as her eagerness to be speak with Sir Richard - and graciously let Lady Mary in. "He's in his study, Lady Mary, is he expecting you?"

Mary blew out a breath as Brown took her coat. She'd been full of nervous energy since she'd left Downton. Matthew was going to have it out with Richard. Richard would expect her to do the right thing and tell Matthew that she was already promised to another and Matthew would expect her to finally come to her senses and pick the man she loved. She'd thought of nothing else on the train, all the scenarios that could play out, what she should say, what she shouldn't. Knowing her luck, Matthew and Richard had already talked it all out and come to some sort of gentleman's agreement about it all. Mary frowned; no, it was more likely that one of them had knocked the out. She turned back to Brown and realised he was still waiting for a response. What had he asked? She smiled nervously and tried to slow down her racing mind.

"Well, no he's not, but if one's fiancée cannot turn up unannounced then who can!"

She bit her lip, agitated, as Brown seemed to spend an eternity letting Richard know that she was here before opening the door to her. Her eyes darted around his study, imposing as it was, and sighed inwardly that she'd beaten Matthew here. A tight smile graced her features as Richard bounded up to greet her and placed a firm kiss on her cheek.

"Mary! To what do I owe this pleasure? Don't tell me that you wish to spend the armistice by my side," He grinned, happily. "I'm touched, but I can't imagine your father is best pleased."

She nodded along, but found that she couldn't be bothered with pleasantries. For better or worse, their relationship had always been honest, brutally so. "Matthew's coming...here, to see you." She said calmly, matter-of-factly.

A scowl flickered on his face at hearing Matthew's name before it settled to a frown. "Why on earth would that man wish to see me?"

"It seems that he has broken off his engagement with Lavinia."

"Oh..." He paused for a moment, before the corners of his mouth twitched in understanding, "..._oh_, this is too good." He couldn't help but grin. "Don't tell me the young Mr. Crawley has ended a two-year betrothal to the lovely Miss Swire in the hopes of marrying _you_." She squirmed at his almost gleeful tone. "I assume he plans to tell me of his undying love for you and that you reciprocate his feelings."

She sighed; she didn't want Matthew and Richard in a room together. It was impossible. For Matthew, who was everything that was honest and pure, to declare his love for Mary _to Richard..._he'd only mock him and make their love seem juvenile and full of wishful thinking. And she'd didn't want that. Whether this was their beginning or their end, she didn't want Richard to spoil it by reducing what she and Matthew had to a joke. "...Just, have Brown send him on his merry way."

"Why would I do that?" His eyes glistened with amusement.

She shook her head, tiredly. "Richard, please..."

"Oh, to be a romantic!" He grinned again, ignoring her tone. "...He thinks I'll let you go."

The subtle warning in his voice was clear; she tried not to look desperate. "I'll speak to him, please...he's an innocent in all of this."

"He's lusting after another man's fiancée, he's hardly innocent. The question is..." He titled his head at her and looked her over appraisingly, "...would he still want you after knowing what you've done?"

Her mouth went dry at his words, as she simply stared at him, shaken to the core. He wouldn't, would he? She swallowed and looked away at the knock at his door. Brown walked in and nodded at the room's occupants.

"A Captain Crawley to see you, Sir."

Richard pouted for a moment and raised an eyebrow at Mary for a reaction. Mary avoided his gaze; he knew how she felt and she wasn't going to lower herself further by pleading with him. It didn't lessen her shock, however, at Richard's response. "...Send him in."

She didn't even have a moment to compose herself before that well-known velvet green entered her vision. "Sir Richard, I realise this..." Matthew trailed off as his eyes landed on the woman at the forefront of his mind. "_Mary_..." He breathed, licking his lips nervously. "What are you doing here?"

Richard smiled, pleasantly enough, walking around behind his desk and stood straighter. "To provide her husband-to-be with some much need company, of course." He raised an eyebrow, daring Matthew to contradict him.

But Matthew only had eyes for Mary. "Of course."

"You must be glad to be home, finally." Richard said, forcing Matthew to look at him. "It's all over. Our heroes can go back to doing ," He waved his hand dismissively, "...whatever it is they were doing before. What is it you do again?"

Matthew raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Carlisle certainly didn't care for the answer, but obliged him. "I'm a lawyer."

"A lawyer. Ah yes, I remember, you work at a little firm in Ripon." Richard smiled, his tone friendly, but his condescension clear to all. "Some jobs don't pay as well as they should I reckon, but I suppose you love your work."

"I do, enjoy what I do that is." Matthew bristled, but didn't want to be distracted from his purpose. "Could I-"

"And Miss Swire doesn't have expensive taste so I'm sure you can provide her with anything she needs. I envy you," He sighed dramatically, "Mary can be so demanding. Don't look at me like that, my darling...honestly, selecting furniture for Hacksby is such a nightmare."

Mary coloured at his words, knowing that they did, in some way, ring true to her character, but Matthew simply stared at Richard dispassionately. "...May I have a word in private, please?"

Richard glanced over at Mary and looked at her pensively for a moment. Then, he turned back to Matthew, decided, putting his hands in his pockets. "I think anything you have to say can be said in front of Mary. We don't keep secrets."

"Well, I..." Matthew swallowed, surprised by his words and the seeming sincerity behind them. "I suppose it is Mary that I have come to talk about."

Mary swallowed and could feel her breathing begin to labour as she became anxious. Her eyes began to burn. "_Matthew_," She croaked, "please, let us go for a walk, I need to speak-"

"No." Richard said, firmly. "Let the man say his piece. You wish to speak to me of Mary?"

"Yes, you see..." Matthew said softly, briefly glancing worriedly at Mary, "the thing is...

...I love her."

"I see..." Richard nodded slowly, "...and this should concern me?"

"...Y-yes." Matthew blinked, taken aback by Richard's reaction, or lack thereof. "..Because Mary loves me too."

"Ah. _That_." He fixed a smile to his face, but Mary could see his jaw clearly clenching. "Yes, I was aware."

Matthew's eyes darted back and forth between the pair before settling on Mary. "You've told him?" He demanded.

"No, but she needn't. I've known for quite some time." He sniffed and raised his eyebrows, expectantly. "What about Miss Swire?"

"...I, that is..." Matthew stumbled over his words at how Sir Richard had breezed over the slight matter of Mary loving a man other than her fiancé. The sudden mention of Lavinia filled him with guilt. "I ended it. It wasn't fair to her."

"And me?"

Matthew had no response to that. "...It's not Mary's fault, it's nobody's really...we've been in love since before the war. I am sorry."

"You're not, but that doesn't matter." Richard replied, bluntly. "Why would it, when Mary and I are still getting married. Aren't we, Mary?" Mary could only grit her teeth and glare; Richard ignored it. "Life isn't an Austen novel Crawley, it's more like a Shakespearian tragedy..." Richard muttered wryly. "Mary appreciates the demands and limitations that come with her privileged position. I can offer her what she _needs_, all the comforts to which she has grown accustomed."

"Mary doesn't care about any of that." Matthew said, hoping his voice sounded as sure as he felt, but her continued silence was starting to worry him. "I let her convince me of it once, but I _know_ that's not true. Love-"

"_Love_!" Mary flinched as he barked a laugh. "You think it's love that you two have! That only comes with years of being married, years of knowing each other, inside and out. You need a solid basis to work from. The same morals, a willingness to compromise, trust, honesty-"

"We have those things! Tell him, Mary!"

"Oh yes, Mary, do tell." Richard snapped. "Are you honest with Matthew? Does he know _everything_ that there is to know?"

"_Please_..." She whispered, tears clouding her eyes.

"You trusted _me_," Richard said, more calmly, trying to make her see sense, "put _me_ in your confidence, not _him_...the man who you supposedly love!" He slammed his hand on the desk, as his jealousy took hold.

"Mary, what is he talking about?" Matthew looked at her, anxiously.

Richard glared at Mary, expectantly, but she shook her head a little, crumbling and shrinking under his gaze like a small child. She was near whimpering and could feel herself crying. "...I _can't_...don't make me..."

"Mary. Talk to _me_..." Matthew took a step closer, on the verge of begging her to look at him. His voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Remember what I said...I would forgive you _anything_."

"I'm..." Her voice caught as she looked at him. He was staring at her with such _love_. She dug her nails into her palms in an effort to stop crying. "I'm not...I'm so sorry, please-"

"_Mary_." Matthew's voice was so gentle, so trusting. She sighed inwardly, maybe if she...she _could_ do it, she could tell him, he'd understand. She opened her mouth-

"She's not virtuous."

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. And, as Matthew dragged his gaze from Mary to look at Richard incredulously, her heart broke, for she knew that, hereafter, Matthew would never look at her like that again.

Richard briefly glanced at Mary, apologetically. "She gave herself to a Mr. Kemal Pamuk in 1913, who unfortunately died in her bed. His heart gave out. With help, she carried him back to his room. That's the long and short of it, isn't it?" His voice wasn't ladled with malice, only facts. But that was all it took.

After what seemed to be an age, Matthew looked back at Mary. "..._Pamuk_..." He breathed, unsure whether his body wanted to make him cry or laugh. She'd been with another man, made _love_ to someone else. _His_ Mary had –

No. She wasn't his. She was Pamuk's.

His gaze hardened as he smiled, completely embittered. "And there I was, _so_ jealous of how much attention you were paying him...To think, that you _actually_..." He trailed off, realising he was too close to tears. Mary, meanwhile, could do nothing else but silently cry her heart out.

"What happened is neither here nor there." Richard jumped in, walking around the desk to stand by Mary and deal out the final blow. "It's of no consequence to _me_. I want to be with Mary all the same and, as Mary's _husband_," His smile faltered a little as he glanced at Mary's tear-streaked face, "...well, I would do everything in my power to protect her, stop this from ever reaching the papers...keep Mary and all her family away from scandal and ruin." Matthew heard the warning in his tone, but only looked at Mary, as if seeing her for the first time. "But, of course, if you think that you can _handle_ it all, well...who am I to stand in the way of true love?" He finished dryly, looking between them. "...Crawley?"

Mary looked down at her feet, waiting to hear the inevitable. Nevertheless, her breath still hitched and her tears flowed thick and fast at Matthew's mumbled reply.

"...That...that won't be necessary, if you'll excuse me..."

Her heart beat heavier. She felt, rather than heard, him walk away, the click of the study door, Brown's farewell...

"_Faint heart never won fair lady_..." Richard said softly after a few minutes silence as he waited for Mary to stop crying and wipe her tears away. "Don't despair, my darling." He soothed her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She didn't have the strength to shrug him off. She didn't want to; she needed someone, _anyone_, to comfort her. "I don't think any less of you, _I_ want you all the same." She tried to smile for him, but couldn't. His eyes, sympathetic, told her how he felt about her and he indulged himself with a kiss on her forehead. "...It's for the best."

* * *

><p>"Mary! Where have you been?" Richard berated his daughter before she'd even had a chance to properly get through the door. She blinked tiredly in surprise, but remembered to smile gratefully at Carson as he helped her out of her coat. "Mama said that you went to London yesterday but I thought you'd catch the last train back. You missed it!"<p>

"The war's over, Papa." She sighed wearily, pulling off her gloves. "Does it _really_ matter where I was to hear the clock strike eleven?"

Robert went to insist that it did matter and scold her further for her absence, but the look of sheer exhaustion on her face stopped him. "You spent it with Sir Richard, I presume?"

"Yes, he was kind enough to put me up in a very lovely hotel and this morning he marked the occasion by giving the servants champagne!" She smiled, half-heartedly.

"My, you must rubbing off on him! A few months ago, he probably didn't even know that he _had_ servants!" Robert joked, quickly realising his daughter needed cheering up.

"Perhaps," her smile still didn't reach her eyes. "It was nice. I suppose that you must get used to this sort of thing." Her father frowned in confusion, "...you know, family gatherings and momentous events without me-"

"Oh please! You'll always be my daughter, Downton will always be your home and Hacksby is a mere twenty minute drive!" Robert insisted with more certainty than he felt, worrying not for the first time about the wedge Sir Richard could and probably would create between Mary and her family. He looked to a friendly face for reassurance. "What do you say to that, Carson?"

"As long as I'm butler, Downton's doors will always be open to you, my lady." Carson said graciously, the twitch of his mouth being his own version of a wide, toothy grin.

"See!" Robert insisted, kissing his daughter on the cheek. "If Carson says it, it must be fact!"

"Of course," Mary swiftly agreed, her father's bright enthusiasm giving her a headache. "I think I'll go and get changed." She didn't wait for his reply and both men watched her go with worry.

"Mary?..." She felt like swearing as she heard her mother cautiously call out to her from across the grand hall. She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to be calm, before turning to meet the curious gazes of her Mama as well as her grandmother. No doubt Mama had filled Granny in on everything. "How did it go?"

"...Well, I was right." She shrugged sadly, with resentment and resignation. "I wish I hadn't been, but..." She sighed, clasping her hands and twisting her engagement ring, "...there we are."

"Darling?" Cora asked again, confused, as Mary turned and started to climb the stairs.

"I was _right_, Mama..." Mary repeated, standing rigidly on a step as she faced away from them. Her cheeks were soon damp, but she fought to keep the tears out of her voice.

"...Some things really are unforgivable."

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

Hope you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

Minor spoilers for series 2 episode 7. As always, your reviews are more than welcome and much appreciated.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 12:<span>**

"- and _now_ that Carson's jumped ship, he wants to sell Hacksby. He says that he's looking into homes in the West Country, Scotland, even New England's a possibility." Mary sighed, bored with it all.

"America? And how do you feel about that?" James asked, shifting uncomfortably in his bed.

"Nothing, really." She replied, honestly. "I haven't had the chance to feel anything. He just sprung it on me."

"He didn't think he should ask his fiancée about moving to another continent?" His smirk was short-lived as he started coughing. Mary poured him a glass of water and he took it from her gratefully.

"As I've told Papa many times over," She smiled, as James passed her back the glass and leant back tiredly into his pillow, "Richard doesn't do a lot of asking."

"And that's to be your life." James said bluntly, the question in his voice clear. "Have you told your parents about his plans?"

"No, and I don't really intend to. Don't look at me like that." She tried to chastise him, but rather too guilty for it to be effective and sighed. "I'm immune to it all now. I just let it wash over me and accept it with as much grace as I can muster."

He rolled his eyes at that. "You still haven't spoken to Captain Crawley then?"

She dropped her shoulders, displeased with how direct he was being, but knew to correct him would be pointless. Come rain or shine, James could always be relied upon to be candid. "Three weeks, five days," She glanced at her watch, "...nine hours and counting. He hasn't even been up to Downton for dinner. I don't what he's told Cousin Isobel, but I can tell she's sick of making excuses for him. She mentioned that he may well be going back to Manchester, for good. Papa blames me, no doubt."

"This," He frowned, jadedly, "...self-pity. It's not you." Now Mary was the one to be chastised. "_Nothing can bring you happiness but yourself_. I'm quoting Emerson, that's how annoying you are. Whilst you're both still breathing, you have a chance to win him back."

Every conversation with James went the same way. Mary would speak of her plans with Sir Richard, James would listen patiently but insist she was being a fool, he would tell her to try again with Matthew and she would be dismissive about it or ignore what he'd said completely. The Captain was persistent, she'd give him that. Everyone else in the family had given up. Even Cora – aware of more than most - had been carried away by the excitement that planning a wedding brings about.

"So, shall you be well enough to attend?"

"...Your wedding?" James raised an eyebrow, so surprised that he forgot to berate her for once again disregarding his advice. "I'm invited?"

"Of course."

"Well, you've left it rather late in the day, I'm afraid. I'll have to check my schedule. I am _so_ in demand these days." He sighed dramatically, breaking into a grin.

"Oh, hush!" She tapped him playfully on the arm, standing to leave. Best to leave him now, he would only tease her mercilessly from now on. "Dr. Clarkson will let you out of bed for a wedding, won't he?"

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away." He yawned, happily closing his eyes, dismissing her. She narrowed her eyes at his reliable insolence and stuck her tongue out. He smirked, appreciating whatever face she was pulling at him. He knew her too well.

Leaving the drawing room, her smile soon turned to a frown as she saw her father exiting the small library with a frown of his own. "Papa, are you alright?"

He looked up from his musings, surprised to see her. "I've received a letter from Matthew." He glanced at his daughter cautiously. "He says that he won't be coming to your wedding."

The news didn't shock her, but it stung, more than she thought it would. Did she want him there? She didn't know. It would close that chapter of her life quite nicely, she supposed. She almost laughed out loud at her selfishness; of course, Matthew wouldn't put himself through that. "It makes sense." She offered, seeing her father anxious of her response. It seemed only Captain Prescott wasn't scared of breaking eggshells. "Who wants to attend the wedding of a woman to whom you once proposed?"

"True, but I thought you two had put that all behind you." Robert said, eager to see his dear boy by his side as his darling girl got married.

"We have!" She assured him. "But everyone has their limits, even Matthew."

He bit his lip, nodding, pensively. A thought struck him. "You don't think I should talk to him about it?"

"What?" Her eyes widened at the prospect. She smiled, willing herself to sound less shrill. "No, there's no need to make him uncomfortable."

But Robert was still unconvinced. "It doesn't look very good, though, the heir to the Earldom who lives but half-a-mile away not attending the current Earl's daughter's wedding."

"I never thought you cared for all that." Her lips quirked in amusement as her Papa seemed to take offence, but her eyes remained dull, guilty of caring for all that for too long. "We'll say that he's unwell or something and, if they talk, they talk. This is supposed to be a celebration, after all. The first wedding that these people have likely been to since the war ended. Hopefully, it's made them a little less petty."

"You really believe that?" He grinned sceptically.

She indulged him with a smile. "It was worth a try."

* * *

><p>"You look lovely, my darling."<p>

Mary simply looked at her reflection, frowning, as if there was a blemish she'd had quite spotted yet. Had she really picked _this_ dress? She tilted her head and twisted her body a little to see what she looked like from different angles. She sighed inwardly, it was too late now. It would have to do. She glanced at her mother's reflection, having not heard but knew that it'd probably been a compliment of some kind. "Yes, the dress is very fine."

"Whilst we look awful!" She craned her neck back to see Edith looking in another mirror, more having been put in her room in anticipation of the big day. "Did you have to pick _blue_?"

"_We_?" Sybil smiled, feigning affront, sitting on Mary's bed next to her mother, clicking her heels together. "I look well in this shade."

"I _like_ blue." Mary offered, smirking as Edith pulled another look of disgust.

"Well, you wear it then!"

"A bride wearing blue, don't be silly!" Sybil laughed, leaning against a bedpost.

"Why not? It'll match her mood."

Mary flinched as her grandmother, sat in an armchair, snorted; surprisingly, Violet hadn't offered much commentary. Cora sighed and glanced wearily at her middle child. "Edith, please, Mary's getting married in _two_ days. We're just making sure everything fits, not making any drastic alterations."

"My point precisely!" Edith insisted, leaning against her sister's chest of drawers, finally sick of the mirror. "How many weeks have I pleaded with you to pick another colour?"

"Must we fight?" Cora glared, her question undoubtedly rhetorical.

Let's, Mary thought. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud, but in many ways, Edith had been a godsend these last few weeks. She was the only Crawley in the house who made a point of _not_ discussing her sister's future married life and refused to treat Mary any differently than she had always done. Some insults did not have the same bite as they might have done a few years ago; the war had clearly caused Edith to lose her edge. Still, she'd been like a dog with a bone over her bridesmaid dress. A bore of a subject, but it took Mary's mind of other things and, after all, it is the thought that counts.

Checking her hair, Mary asked. "Mama, did you make room for another guest like I asked?"

"Yes, I did. Although as you can imagine Mrs. Hughes wasn't best pleased at having to help me rearrange the seating and Mrs. Patmore despaired at having another mouth to feed, but, it's all settled." Her mother sighed, exasperated. "Who's this for again?"

"Captain Prescott."

"Prescott?" Sybil smiled. "The man who's keen on Betty Harwood?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Prescott," Cora repeated, trying to place the name. Her eyes soon flickered with recognition. "No, not that disturbed young man who stormed into the dining room?"

"He's not disturbed, Mama." Mary said firmly, her jaw clenching at her Mama's words. "He's come leaps and bounds since then and Dr. Clarkson has finally given permission for him to leave his bed and attend."

"And what's so special about Captain Prescott that you want him at your wedding?" Edith asked, bored, sighing as her mother slapped her hands away from playing with her dress.

"Well, we've sort of...become chums," Mary admitted, holding up earrings to see which would suit best, "and it'll be nice to see another friendly face amongst the sea of nobility and Richard's business associates."

Sybil frowned, reluctant to ask the question, but felt somewhat dutiful to do so. "With this Spanish flu going around, is it really the best time to have hundreds of people from God knows where all put in a room together?"

That caught Granny's attention. "Sybil, we are the aristocracy," She said, adopting her usual tone of condescension; Sybil had to stop herself from retorting whilst her sisters kept their smiles at bay."...we amass, that's what we do! Weddings, christenings, funerals, every party and event of the season, it's how we live! And we cannot stop living in case we catch a cold."

"Right!" Cora said suddenly, standing up. Seeing the steely look in her youngest's eyes and her mother-in-law's eyebrows poised for Sybil's retort, Cora was not in the mood for the, by now, familiar clashes in generation. "They fit, very well. All the adjustments we asked for seem to have come off a treat. Now, please go back to your rooms before you spill something on them."

Sybil's eyes softened as she looked again at Mary, all in white. "Don't you feel melancholic about it all?" Everyone turned to look at her; melancholy and Sybil Crawley never went hand-in-hand. At their stares, she quickly amended, "Change is good, I know that and I don't want my life to go back to how it was before the war, but still..." She shrugged, smiling sadly. "...we shan't be the Three Musketeers anymore."

"More like the Three Little Pigs." Edith muttered wryly.

Mary barked a laugh. "Speak for yourself!"

"With the nasty Miss Brentworth as the wolf." Edith added.

"Oh please," Mary glanced back at Edith's reflection, "I'd rather take a nasty governess any day than an insipid one, the worst by far was Miss Coleridge."

"Oh God, I'd forgotten about her." Edith began to smile at a memory. "Do you remember when you badgered Billy Russell to put worms in her-"

"See!" Mary and Edith turned, perplexed, at Sybil's tearful voice. "I shall miss you, miss _us_ like this."

"Oh Sybil, sweetheart," Mary gazed at her darling sister, shaking her head fondly, "how you romanticise our lives together..."

"Let me." Sybil insisted, sniffing back her tears. "Our lives won't be lived _together_ much longer."

Edith tutted affectionately and sighed dramatically as she reached for Sybil's hand, pulling her out of the room. "Come on, dry your nose on the dress, let's go put on perfume and drink red wine." She said, wickedly, glancing at her mother.

"_Edith_," Cora said warningly, following her daughters in alarm. "Edith!"

Mary's smile left her face as the room descended into silence. Silence hadn't been a friend of late, it tended to allow one to think. Clearing her throat, she went back to staring into the looking glass. She almost startled, seeing her grandmother still sat in the same armchair, calmly looking at her granddaughter. She'd forgotten that she wasn't alone. Mary swallowed, glancing at Violet's reflection, reluctant to turn around and face her head-on. "...something the matter, Granny? You've been terribly quiet."

"Hmm, with me? Not at all!" Violet was quick to clarify as she rose and walked over to stand behind Mary. "...I was just thinking."

"Oh dear." Mary said dryly, feeling the need to keep things light.

"There's something missing."

"Do you think?" Mary nodded, playing with her necklace. "I had wondered about a brooch."

"No," Violet considered, slowly shaking her head, "that's not it." Mary raised a questioning eyebrow, their eyes locking. Her grandmother paused before answering:

"A smile."

"My dear girl, I fear we did so many things wrong. You used to be such a bright young thing. You've always been bossy and stubborn, of course, though where you get that from I have no idea," Violet tried to smile; Mary didn't return it, going back to look at her jewellery, "but you were hopeful and confident, went for what you wanted, didn't believe in giving up...and then it was decided that you were going to marry Patrick, which – in short – meant that your _whole_ life was planned for you. To think, we told you that over breakfast, didn't we? As if we were discussing the weather..." Violet trailed off, guilt lacing her tone. The only indication that Mary was listening was the flaring of her nostrils at _their_ plans for her. Violet sighed, trying to defend their actions. "We thought you wouldn't mind, we thought you'd _like_ the idea, that it would ease your worries about the future, you and him got along so well...little did we know how it would change you-"

"Is this in aid of something?" Mary snapped, irritated that dragging up her past seemed to be some people's favourite pastime.

Violet was not affronted, but did not look chastised either. She looked at her most seriously and did not speak again until Mary finally turned to face her. "We were wrong. It's _your_ life, Mary...and if you are marrying this man because you think that you should, because you believe it to be your duty, or even your punishment – as I strongly suspect you do – then I beg you to reconsider." Mary said nothing to contradict Violet, but it was clear to both that her words were having no affect. She tried to change tactics. "Matthew loves you very much."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Violet insisted, the doubt in Mary's voice worrying her. "He's simply stubborn too. Those Crawley genes are strong, of that I'm certain. Go to him."

"I _can't _Granny, it's too late." Mary reasoned calmly, the days for crying over and done with. "He doesn't want me anymore. The sooner we all accept that, the better." She turned back to the mirror and picked up another necklace, holding it up to the dress, effectively ending their talk.

Violet bristled at Mary's dismissal. "I never took you for a coward, Mary." Mary looked up, taken aback by her grandmother's words just in time to see her leave the room. Violet sighed unhappily as she walked back to the top of the grand staircase. Well, the Dowager thought, if Mohammed won't come to the mountain...then Mohammed's grandmother better give the mountain a piece of her mind.

* * *

><p>Walking down the grand staircase for breakfast, Mary watched as chaos ensued. Today, nurses and soldiers were removing half the beds – freeing up the drawing room for the wedding - as the hospital had room enough for many to convalesce. The war over, Dr. Clarkson need not worry about new arrivals from France. Meanwhile, the maids and the few footmen rushed about, bringing in bouquets of flowers and some candles to light the dining room more gently. More romantic, according to her mother. Tomorrow, she would marry Sir Richard Carlisle and Downton would no longer be her home. She kept hoping that the excitement would take over, that, by the day before, even the worst bride would still start to get giddy, but Mary was still waiting. Even though Matthew had kept away and she hadn't seen him since that horrible day at Richard's London home, it seemed that out of sight did not mean out of mind. She hadn't thought of much else. She hardly expected him to come running into the church, breathlessly declaring his love as she opened her mouth to say 'I do', but what one expected and what one hoped for were two different things. Whatever she felt, it was enough. Enough to stop any expectations for happiness, on her part. She might be satisfied with her situation and Richard would probably do his best, but any dreams of being truly happy were scattered to the wind. Mrs Hughes caught her eye and Mary stopped, obligingly.<p>

"Lady Mary," Mrs Hughes said hurriedly, with so much to get through. "I've made the finishing touches to the seating arrangements and will put the name cards down this afternoon. So, if you could look the room over this evening?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm sure everything's perfect."

Mrs. Hughes smiled at the compliment. "Also, Sir Richard called to say that he would be arriving later this morning , _and_ I've just had a telephone call from Redland House to say that the Duke of Sutherland's been told by his doctor to stay away from red meat. So, for the main, Mrs. Patmore was perhaps thinking either roast pork or salmon en croute, I said that I'd have to speak to you."

Mary tried not to look puzzled; had she even met the Duke of Sutherland? "Either sounds fine, whatever Mrs. Patmore thinks best, her guess is as good as mine..." She looked as if she wanted to say more, but kept silent.

"My lady?"

Mary licked her lips, a little embarrassed. "Do...do you and her Ladyship do this a lot?

"I don't think I understand, my lady."

"Talk about seating arrangements and salmon en croute?" At Mrs. Hughes raised eyebrows, Mary knew she'd put a foot wrong. "Sorry, I don't mean to trivialise, but...hosting parties, things like that, it's a big part of being a mistress, isn't it?"

"Of an estate like Downton or...say, Hacksby, yes, it is..." Mrs. Hughes answered, but seeing Lady Mary's brooding expression, the older woman sighed inwardly. "ButI'm sure you'll make a good mistress, my lady, you were born for this." She offered, not with any particular affection, but as truthfully as she could.

"Maybe. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

Sighing, she went to turn into the drawing room to visit James before breakfast, as she had grown accustomed to doing, but remembered he must have been moved. Mary espied a nurse who didn't look too occupied. "Excuse me, do you know where they've put James now? The library or the hospital? He's probably attempting to escape as we speak, he's been itching to get out of that bed."

"James, my lady?"

"Sorry." Mary clarified. "I mean, Captain Prescott. Dark hair, quite pale-"

"I know the one, my lady." The nurse smiled. "I'm not sure, I just started my round. Ah, Betty?" She grabbed another nurse walking past. "Lady Mary was wondering about Captain Prescott."

Mary smiled at Betty but frowned as she noticed how red-rimmed her eyes were. The woman had clearly been crying and Mary began to frown in recognition. Mary's mouth went dry, her breathing shallow, as it dawned on her that this woman was Betty Harwood.

"They took him to the hospital." Betty answered quietly. "His coughing kept getting worse in the night, he was struggling to breathe."

"Oh my God," Mary whispered, "...is it the flu? Is there anything I can do? I'll go down there right now." She nodded, eager to be of use.

"Lady Mary, that's not..." Betty shook her head, sadly. A pit formed in Mary's stomach. "...they took his _body_ to the hospital...James is dead."

* * *

><p>I know, :( right? Don't hate me too much.<p>

**TBC...**


	13. Chapter 13

Well, James is dead, sorry about that folks! But I hope you enjoy the next chapter! (A couple of spoilers for episode 8 series 2) Reviews always welcome!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 13:<span>**

She'd been sat on the bench probably for too long. Autumn had truly gone, she could feel that much, as the winter winds hit Mary's face. She'd been sat outside for hours and was numb with the cold, but she had her doubts that the weather was responsible. Hearing rustling, she looked down to the piece of paper in her hands. _He left a letter for you, my lady._ James had clearly written it yesterday before he was wracked by the coughing, before...She could hear his scolding and dry tone in every word, every comma, every full stop. It had already been planned that he was to move back to the hospital to make room for the wedding and he wanted to make his apologies for why he couldn't attend. She snorted; they were hardly apologies. _I can't watch it, I'm afraid. If you had no other option, it would tragic, but as you do, I think it a farce_. Mary sighed and looked straight into the wind to dry her eyes. In her life, she'd been accused of far worse, but she took comfort in the fact that no one thought her a fool or a quitter and James had died believing her to be both. 'Nothing can bring you happiness but yourself,' 'life's too short,' 'a loveless life is a living death'...Every proverb he'd thrown at her in the hopes that something would click had been thrown back at him. Only now, did they seem to take on a new life in light of James losing his.

This would be it. Tomorrow, she'd be married to Sir Richard Carlisle and follow countless other high society women by embarking on a life of inane conversation, half-hearted smiles and reluctant love-making in exchange for luxury and security. How quick she'd been to criticise Sybil, who'd announced to all the night before that – after Mary's wedding – she and the chauffeur were to go to Ireland and she to be a nurse. How stupid she'd thought her little darling, how angry she'd been! Now, it was blindingly clear that that anger had stemmed from nothing more than jealousy. Sybil was to follow her heart, to have a job, a purpose. Sybil had bitten the bullet and confessed all to her father.

The wind picked up and the clouds darkened with the storm that had been brewing for days. It would rain later perhaps, it would certainly rain tomorrow. She'd expected that. It would have been a cruel joke for there to be blue skies on such a day. She blinked. It was to be her wedding day and she wanted it to _rain_. She wanted everyone and everything to be just as gloomy, cold and miserable as she knew that she would be. Granny had been generous about her; Mary didn't need to smile, she needed a lobotomy. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She was really going to tie herself to this man, a man who was using her sordid past as a means of forcing her down the aisle. Pushing thoughts of Matthew to one side, Mary sighed and finally faced up to the truth. She'd rather be alone, she'd rather be a spinster all her life and go down as an infamous femme fatale than be Lady Mary _Carlisle_. He wasn't so bad, she supposed, but he'd never make her happy. And, if she knew that _now_, before the possible forty years of marriage, before he had the right to order her about, than she might as well throw in the towel. She had a better chance of being happy alone. Life really was too short.

But what of her family and their reputation? She sighed unhappily again, waiting for that sense of duty to kick in once more, but it didn't. Not now. Despite her sincerest hopes for them to be spared, the continual rustling in her hands had gripped her heart and wouldn't let it go. She liked to think that, when it came down to it, she would do anything for her family, but _this_ was too heavy a price. The winds were starting to truly howl sensing her agitation, her nervous excitement, as she came to the inevitable conclusion that she would, she _must_, follow in her sister's footsteps and also bite the bullet. She smoothed down the letter gently, read over and over again, she knew every line. _We all make mistakes, Mary, but there's no need to let them dictate your life._

* * *

><p>"The Dowager Countess, ma'am."<p>

Isobel had barely the time to mask her surprise nor Matthew the time to get up from his chair as Moseley showed Lady Grantham through to the front room. "Cousin Violet, what an unexpected pleasure!"

"A pleasure?" Violet assessed Isobel, ever doubtful. "Oh, you're too kind. How are you, Isobel?"

"Very well." Isobel smiled, sitting down again as Cousin Violet helped herself to a seat. "My work with the Red Cross has been very rewarding, just last week I went to-"

"Mmm, yes, fascinating..." Violet nodded briskly before her eyes turned to the sole man in the room, her eyes on the prize, "...and you, Matthew?"

Matthew appeared momentarily amused as his mother rolled her eyes at Violet's familiar interruption. "...I'm well, yourself?"

"Oh yes, what with Mary's wedding," Isobel started, aware of how uncomfortable her son would be, but knowing she must be polite, "it must all be very busy at the house. You must forgive Matthew for not being able to attend but he's going to Manchester, he promised to visit some old friends, to swap stories from the front and the such, I hope Mary understands."

Violet's eyes, which had seldom strayed from Matthew, glanced at Isobel who was lying through her teeth and not very good at it. Mrs. Crawley shifted in her seat. "No, she doesn't. She _says_ that she does, but I know my granddaughter and what Mary says and feels are often unrelated."

"You mean that she's a liar?" Matthew asked, his dry tone still managing to clearly drip with resentment.

"_Matthew_." Isobel rebuked her son immediately, but Violet waved her off. It was clear that Matthew was hurting and the Dowager knew she could work with that. It meant that he still felt for Mary. It was hardly surprising, but certainly reassuring. The line between love and hate was a thin one; it's indifference which is the lost cause.

She looked at Matthew thoughtfully before taking off her gloves. "May I have a private word with your son, Isobel?"

Isobel looked over at her son to gauge his feelings but Violet and Matthew seemed to be in competition over who would be the first to blink. She sighed inwardly; he 'd hate her for it, but someone needed to talk some sense into him and it wouldn't do any harm to let Violet have a crack at it. "Yes, I need to post some letters, so I'll leave you." That caught Matthew's attention. "Shall I ring for some tea?"

"Would you?" Violet smiled pleasantly, somewhat satisfied as a look of apprehension descended onto his face. "I don't see why we should deprive ourselves of Mrs. Bird's cakes just because our talk must be a serious one, do you?"

* * *

><p>"Papa, I need to speak with you."<p>

"Of course, Mary, you may speak with me whenever you wish." Her father replied absentmindedly, as he sorted through his post. "Although perhaps you better find your mother first, she's been looking for you all morn-,good God!" He said, having finally looked up to see a daughter who had clearly been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, her body stiff, her hands were being wrung anxiously, one hand clasping a letter. "Whatever is the matter?"

"James Prescott is dead."

"Oh darling, the young Captain?" He sighed sympathetically at her small nod. "I know how close you two grew, I am sorry."

"He had all sorts of plans..." She smiled tearfully, remembering their talks and she ached at the thought that they could never talk again. Never again would he light up as he talked of his plans to travel or turn red at his wish to take Nurse Harwood to the pictures. "He was excited to get up out of that bed. He complained that he hadn't felt the breeze on his face in weeks, but we all told him that he just needed to wait a little longer...a little longer and then it could be _his_ life again."

"He's at peace now, you must think of it like that."

It was too soon to think like that, too soon to find comfort in any words. She stopped herself from snapping, but her voice turned icily cold. "At peace or not, Papa, he's in a box. He shan't be feeling the breeze ever again."

Robert nodded, understandingly. She'd never worn grief well. When his father had died, Sybil and Edith had been inconsolable, but Mary, on whom the late Lord Grantham had always doted, cried not one tear in front of her family, instead choosing to yell and scream at them until her voice could take no more. He looked down at her hands. "Is the letter from him?"

She looked down, too; she'd been holding it so long, she'd forgot about it. "Yes, he writes _Mary_. It's funny," She smiled, albeit somewhat humourlessly, as she carried on, "though I protested, he insisted on saying 'my lady' every other sentence, despite being possibly the least proper man that I've ever met. Far more inquisitive than decorum dictates and not afraid to call something as he saw it, I've been moping around for years and he wasn't having any of it." She frowned, gazing off into nothing, as she considered herself. "I think I've liked it, in some sick way, being miserable. It's what I'm used to and it gives me an excuse to be mean and spiteful. Over and _over_ again, I seem to sabotage myself, and then I wonder why happiness eludes me. If I had told Matthew from the start..." She trailed off, reluctant to go down that path yet. She berated herself; if she was going to get anywhere in life, she really needed to stop regretting.

"Told him what?" She'd said too much and her father's curiosity was piqued.

It was the perfect opportunity to confess all, but Mary surprised herself as a different confession left her lips. "I've never felt about anyone the way that I feel about Matthew." She whispered. Robert's eyes widened at her words. He had thought them to be true but for Mary to say them..."It scared me, it _scares_ me. In nearly all things, I've never been yellow-bellied. With my feelings, however, I seem to have been the greatest coward of them all." She scowled at herself, as her breathing quickened and her thoughts flowed too quickly, the warmth of the drawing room suffocating her after having been outside. "No one gets everything they want. How many friends who debuted when I did have married men twenty years their senior? How many of them have told me, when my time came, that their husbands could be bothersome but one can always lie back and think of England?" Her father blushed at that, but Mary could only laugh grimly. "And it didn't bother me. I thought it was what women _had_ to bear!"

Robert frowned, unable to keep up with what his daughter was talking about and her flitting emotions. "Mary, what are you saying?"

"Am I coward? I must be, for 'fortune smiles on the brave' and 'the brave have all the luck' and James can probably give me...sorry," She smiled, very bitterly, "James _could_ have given me another hundred proverbs which say the same! And, God knows, I'm _far_ from lucky, so I must be a coward!"

"No, my dear, no." Robert shook his head vehemently, his tone commanding his daughter to heed what he said. "You were always so fearless as a child. No tree was too high to climb, no insect too big to prod with a stick." He hoped for a smile but got none. He stepped forward and grasped her empty hand, cradling it between his own. "You never feared a punishment when you knew yourself to be deserving of it. You never feared saying sorry when you knew that you had done wrong. And that same girl stands before me. Like all, you have your faults, but being cowardly is not one of them."

"And yet, I'm still scared." His expression was questioning, unsure as to what she was referring. Strangely, she didn't remind repeating herself. "I've never felt about anyone as I feel about him."

"Matthew." He didn't ask and she didn't need to confirm it.

"I've been blind." She breathed deeply, trying to let some of the tension leave her body, but knowing it would not until she lay her past bare. "As usual, it takes something awful happening for me to finally open my eyes and realise the truth. All my efforts to not disappoint you, to not be someone worth pitying...they've been for nought, haven't they?" She shook her head sadly, as he opened his mouth to disagree. "You _are_ disappointed because I accepted Sir Richard for, what you believe to be, merciless reasons and everyone _does_ pity me because they know he's not the man I want."

"You're not a disappointment."

He said it, surely, firmly. She wanted to cry, so sure was Mary that her father would be forced to take those words back, but the tears did not come. It was as if her whole body knew that if she cried, she'd never tell him and she _had_ to tell him. She'd left it unsaid for too long and had waited until the last moment. She swallowed, her nerves nearly getting the better of her, but the feeling of forgotten paper in her hand forced her to speak.

"Five years ago, I took a lover."

* * *

><p>"Well, I won't insult your intelligence by pretending your little trip to Manchester isn't codswallop. Mary loves <em>you<em>, you love _her_, why I am attending her wedding to another man tomorrow?" Violet asked, matter-of-factly, as always.

Matthew clenched his jaw, not wanting to have such conversation, particularly with Cousin Violet. "I think that's a question you should save for your granddaughter." He said sternly, but Cousin Violet was not to be put off.

"I'm asking _you_."

"And what if I don't care to answer?" He snapped before he could stop himself. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, you haven't exactly marched over there and laid your cards on the table." She sniffed, baiting him, leaning forward on her cane.

"That's not true. We've said what needed to be said, I ended things with Lavinia and she was going to-" His mouth clamped shut at the quirk of her eyebrow, so like Mary it stopped him in his tracks. "She hasn't come to me either, you know."

"At every mention of your name, she goes as white as a sheet, which is a feat when one is as pale as Mary. I know her, she feels-"

"Regardless of what she feels, what I feel, she _is_ marrying Sir Richard." He interrupted. He knew that Mary loved him, but he couldn't, _wouldn't_, think of that. "She has had ample opportunity to break it off but hasn't. She's made her choice."

"I don't think Mary believes she has a choice. Does she know that you would take her, if she was to throw Sir Richard over?" His frown and look to the ground planted hesitation in her mind. "You _would_ take her, wouldn't you?" He flinched at her question, answering it either way both seemed impossible. To say yes, after all the lies and deception...but to say no...he sighed inwardly as he met Violet's knowing gaze. "So, she told you."

He faltered for a moment, but felt obligated not to give Mary away. "...I don't know what you-"

"About the Turkish gentleman?"

"You know?" He blurted, shocked both by her knowing and her casual tone. Matthew had been aware for weeks and could think of nothing else. "You _knew_?"

Violet bristled, Matthew's tone sounding a little too appalled for her liking. "She was foolish, but by ignorance we mistake and by mistake we _learn_. Mary's lesson happened to be more expensive than most and she's paid for it bitterly, _is_ paying for it bitterly and, if she marries Sir Richard, she shall pay for it for the rest of her life."

She knew him to be grimacing underneath it all, but his silence proved it wasn't enough. He was a man and they could be awfully dense over such delicate matters. Violet sighed. "He was a handsome stranger from foreign lands and when he, uninvited I hasten to add, came to her room and she insisted he leave, she should have insisted harder. But she didn't. She didn't because she was young and headstrong and, for one blissful moment, a man stood before her who saw _only_ her, not her connections or her dowry, just her and she gave in..." She trailed off, intently looking for any sign that she was getting through to him. The gentle relaxing of his shoulders gave her hope. "We were hounding her to marry you, to marry Evelyn Napier, to marry _anyone_...it's sad, really. Daughters are never quite good enough until they marry and marry well they must." She pouted contemplatively and then frowned as she recalled his last words. "And don't sound so surprised that I'm in my granddaughter's confidence! It's not easy being a woman! One's virtue is all that one has and every man, be him a carpenter or a king, are doing their best to take it from you!"

"You're making excuses for her?"

She was surprised that he still sounded harsh, but her eyes softened as she realised this was not the tone of a prig who was unable to forgive such a discretion, but the tone of a devoted man who had been confronted with the unhappy truth that the love of his life struggled to live up to the pedestal he'd placed her on. "Do not pretend that you are offended by her deception, Matthew. For the most part, you are hurt and jealous that she would even contemplate being with someone other than yourself." Violet was firm, but spoke kindly. Matthew didn't argue the point; she was right. "Am I making excuses for her? No, but I can sympathise with her and, more importantly, I've forgiven her. I know it's been a shock, but, if you think you _can_ forgive her, then you must do it soon, because, by tomorrow afternoon, it won't matter."

It would be too late. The very thought pierced his soul and it hit him that this wasn't a game or a play, but this was real life, _his_ life, _Mary's_ life and, if he didn't do something, there would be no possibility of them sharing these lives together. He had thought Pamuk would change how he felt about her, but it hadn't. Was he angry and injured by it all? Undoubtedly. Did he still love her more than life itself? Of course. He swallowed; he could forgive her for what she did, but he'd never forgive himself if he sacrificed what they had for the sake of his pride. "...And what if she won't fight for me, fight for us?"

"My dear, two people could not be more in love and yet more oblivious to what lies in each other's hearts." His words brought a smile to the grandmother's face and lightened her heart. "One word from you – just the glimmer of hope – that you still wish to be her Perseus and she'd declare herself Andromeda to the world." She rolled her eyes, as his eyebrows rose in surprise and a smile in remembrance graced his face. "Stop with the looks of astonishment Matthew, a Dowager never forgets..." Whether it was simply the twitch or a wink, Matthew was never to know. "Would you be so kind as to pass the sugar?"

* * *

><p>"-YOU DECEITFUL GIRL! What were you thinking! There's no need to answer that, you obviously weren't thinking at all! What in God's name have you to say for yourself?"<p>

"I can only say that I'm sorry." Mary jumped in, finally able to speak after her father's onslaught of shouting and rhetorical questions. His words hurt, but she'd expected nothing less and knew she deserved nothing less and that allowed a calm to settle over her. "Sorry for not trying harder to make him leave, sorry for covering it all up, sorry for waiting until now to tell you. I made a mistake, an error in judgment-"

"_In_ _judgment_?" Her father scoffed, completely incredulous. "More like you lost all your senses, child! Are all my daughters determined to ruin this family? Within a few days, I have learnt that my youngest wishes to marry my Irish, Communist chauffeur and that my eldest once had a lover -sorry, a _Turkish_ lover! - that had to be dragged back to his room, dead, cold and _naked_!" She tried not to jump as he bellowed at her but wasn't particularly successful. She sighed inwardly; he'd have always seen red, but the combination of her own and Sybil's secrets were enough to kill him. "When Ethel returned, a baby in her arms, she had my pity but we all knew that she'd made her bed and would have to lie in it! To think that I dared to criticise when my own daughter..." He blew out a breath and shook his head. She raised an eyebrow; he might as well say all that he wished to. "You know, if fate had been crueller, you might've ended up with a child! I suppose, in that case, you would have had to confess your sins a little earlier! This is going to kill your mother-"

"She already knows." Mary said dryly. Robert had assumed he would be the first to know. She knew he would. How he loved to talk about the fragile sensibilities of ladies! Little did he know the lengths they had all gone to in order to spare _him_. "...as does Edith and Granny, as well as Sir Richard and Matthew. Come to think of it, so do a few fellows at the Turkish embassy. I told James."

"My mother _knows_, and yet she's still breathing?" He repeated slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Do I _want_ to know the extent of each person's involvement?"

Mama helped me dragged the body. If Edith hadn't written to the embassy, everyone would be none-the-wiser. Mary groaned inwardly: better not. "That's up to you. I will only confess to those secrets which are my own. You can ask them yourselves if it matters that much."

"_If_ _it_ _matters_?" He stared her down, his anger resurfacing once more. "How can you be so offhand?"

"That's not my intention." Mary said calmly, eager to avoid more yelling. Yelling didn't help anybody. "Let me be clear, I don't want to sound blasé or sour, I'm simply...accepting. I've cried so long and hard over the injustice of it all, as if I didn't bring it on myself, but I _did_. Some of it was unlucky, but I had choices, and I _chose_ wrongly." She looked at her father imploring, hoping he would see how truly remorseful she was. "Papa, I know the world will only see me now as being tainted goods, that doesn't matter. I don't know the world, I don't care for its opinion. I care for _yours_. I did a terrible thing and I'm asking for your forgiveness. I will do all in my power to earn it and will feel better for having it, but...you must know that..." She sighed, letter still in hand. _If you don't want people's pity, don't pity yourself. You're worth something_. "...I don't believe myself to be a scarlet woman. I forgive myself."

As she raised her chin a little at her last words, Robert's own words died on his lips. For the first time in months, his daughter was showing that spark of defiance, which, once so strong, had all but burned out. Sir Richard had been seeing to that. He wiped a hand across his face. He felt like he'd aged ten years in the last few minutes and so had his daughter. Yet, in Mary's case, it seemed to all be for the better and, as he stood there and tried to stare her down, he couldn't help but be impressed by her sudden maturity. Impressed by her maturity, but also her urge to grab hold of her life and take charge of it, for he knew that there was some purpose to this all, some reason as to why she was confessing now, five years later.

Robert chose his words carefully. "...I can't pretend that this hasn't hurt me, Mary, and I'm not sure how I'll recover from the shock...but I _will_ recover and I _do_ forgive you." He offered, still stern, but nevertheless Mary felt something lift from her, whatever it was it had weighed on her for years, and tears began to prick her eyes. "I forgave you everything the moment your mother put you first in my arms and that's the cross that all parents have to bear. However, if you still insist on earning my forgiveness , then please grant me a favour..." His eyes begged her to comply and she prayed it was something she could deliver, "..._don't _marry that man tomorrow."

"I was hoping you would say that."

Her hand did not come up to her mouth quick enough to cover her sob of relief, but she bit her lip to stop from crying too much. Mary looked at her father, determined to be honest, determined to make him know what his forgiveness would cost him. "He's threatened to expose me and he most certainly will if I break it off a day before we're due to be married. I don't know what to do, I don't love him. For you and the family, I'll stay out of sight and live in the house in Ireland, for all eternity if needs be, to try and limit the damage." She could live with Sybil before she married Branson or go to New York and stay with her maternal grandmother; her mind worked overtime as she ran through the different possibilities. She nodded decidedly, her confidence boosted by her Papa's words. "But I can't marry him, no. I think that I have a better shot at being happy _alone_ than with Richard, I'm afraid. To live a lie, it isn't fair to him or me."

"A better shot?" Robert tilted his head, unsatisfied. He could feel the beginnings of a smile as he realised his hopes for Mary, for Matthew, stood a chance of success. Though frustration towards his daughter still remained, his emotions gave way to romance. "But a clear shot would be aimed straight at Crawley House, no?" She blinked in surprise. His eyes softened as he looked at the _woman_ before him. "Alone, not alone...you're not a disappointment, Mary." And then she finally realised what she'd always been too angry to see. For her father, to marry Matthew would be the icing on the cake, but she was all that he needed. She was his daughter and he'd been willing to give her away to a man he loathed because it was what Mary had wanted. Emerson was wrong and, for once, so was James. Nothing brings you happiness but yourself? Beaming through her tears, as her father gently cupped her cheek, she doubted it, she doubted it very much.

"Go to him."

"You're too good, you know that?" She whispered, not trusting her voice. "I love you, Papa." More than she could ever express.

"As I love you." He said, unembarrassed that his own cheek were damp. Now, he knew, Mary Crawley was ready to fly the nest. "...But someone's replaced me as being the first in your affections." She went to argue, but that only made him grin. "Don't fret, I couldn't have lost you to a worthier man." His grin turned bemused as he noticed that familiar humour twinkling in her eye. "What?"

"The first, you say? Are you sure? Carson's quite the competitor."

"Go." He sighed dramatically before tapping her cheek fondly and watched her walk to the door. "Am I to thank the young Captain Prescott?" For what, Robert didn't say, but Mary understood. James had given her the push she needed, his letter, his death...

She nodded, her grin dimmed. Yes, he was at peace. He _had_ to be. "I certainly like to think so. I only wish he was here for you to thank."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

Hope you like it! Let me know your thoughts!


	14. Chapter 14

Hope you're enjoying! Again, let me know how you like it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 14:<strong>

The clouds looming, Mary felt herself almost breaking into a run as Crawley House came into view. She could feel more than hear her heart thundering and she didn't know whether to put it down to the exertion from the walk down or the anticipation of seeing Matthew. This was it. She swallowed and came to a stop by the gate. Her hand rested upon it but she didn't open it. Mary had been so anxious to see Matthew, so anxious to put things right, that she hadn't even begun to consider what to say. She wanted to apologise, but more than anything, she wanted to tell Matthew that she loved him. What to say first? How to put it? And so, there she stood, considering and second guessing until the nearing thunder startled her out of her thoughts. She cursed under her breath as she brought her hand up to the back of hair self-consciously; she didn't need a mirror to know her haste and the wind had left her unkempt. She hadn't even remembered to wear a hat. First things first, she needed to move. She needed to open the gate. But the more she stood and the more she thought, the more Mary felt her legs grow heavy as the fear spread. Why couldn't she just-

"Mary?"

Her eyes widened as Isobel appeared at the front door, clearly off somewhere. Mary blinked and quickly looked away, scared that Isobel would look into her eyes and know everything. "W-why are you here?" She was about to congratulate herself for managing to say something before it hit her that she couldn't have sounded more stupid. She glanced at Isobel apologetically, but the older woman, seeing Mary's nerves, merely raised an eyebrow in response and smiled, clasping her hands together.

"If you're looking for Matthew, I'm afraid he's gone out. He felt like a walk." Mary swallowed again; Mrs. Crawley certainly didn't beat about the bush.

"No, no...I'll just..." Mary glanced at the gate; no need to open it now. "I'm sorry, I must-"

"How's everything coming along?" Isobel asked, not ready to let Mary go quite yet, and walked down the path towards her. "...with the wedding?"

"_The_ _wedding_..." Mary breathed. _That_. It grew closer with every moment, and yet, with every moment, seemed more wrong, more impossible, more unholy, more...Mary smiled softly. There wouldn't be a wedding. She saw Isobel frown questioningly as the silence wore on, but Mary kept smiling. She knew what she wanted – _who_ she wanted – and she was going to try her bloody hardest to get him. "...yes, well, that is...I'm afraid, there isn't going to be a wedding." Her smile turned wry. "I haven't quite told Sir Richard that yet, but he's next on my list."

Isobel shook her head, slowly, stunned, in awe. She looked at Mary cautiously; she didn't dare hope. "Why, what's wrong?"

Mary could help the small laugh that bubbled from her chest. She'd told someone. She'd actually told someone that there wasn't going to be a wedding. She could do this; she could stand tall in the face of people's surprise and horror and accusations and whatever else was thrown at her. Richard's reaction wasn't going to remotely resemble the curiosity of Isobel, but she'd made a start. "It's what _right_, actually." She answered, shrugging at the truth of the matter. "I've realised that I don't want to marry him, because..." She blushed then and trailed off, remembering the woman before her wasn't simply Cousin Isobel but Matthew's mother.

"You're in love with my son?"

Blunt, once more, but there was no judgment in tone. The gate, still closed, between them, didn't make a good barrier; Isobel had a knack for reading minds. Although Mary's shy nod grew more confident as she saw the warmth in the other woman's eyes. "...something like that." She whispered. "I have been for years,..."

"And now you're going to put things right?"

"With a bit of luck, yes..." Mary smiled nervously. "I hope that's agreeable to you."

"Better late than never." Isobel muttered. No matter where she'd stood with Matthew, she'd been grateful that his mother was always kind to her. Mary had broken her son's heart, probably more than once, she sighed inwardly, but Isobel had never laid the blame at her feet. Perhaps, Isobel was scared it would end in tears...again. Mary forced herself to keep smiling; she didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been that. And then, Isobel broke out into a grin. She opened the gate that kept them apart and reached for Mary's hands. Mary blew out a shaky breath and smiled tremulously. "Thank God, Mary! I was beginning to despair!"

"So was I!" Mary agreed, whole-heartedly. It had taken a lot to get her here, but now, she knew, they'd be no moving her. She bit her lip. "Do you...do you think I stand a chance?"

"There's only one way to find out, I suppose." She squeezed Mary's hands in reassurance, before grimacing a little. "Although I'm not sure whatever Cousin Violet said to him helped or not."

"Granny spoke to Matthew?" Mary blurted, horrified. Her mind went reeling as she went over her last conversation with her grandmother and all of the possible things she might have said to Matthew. "...oh, God."

"She'll hardly have done any lasting damage. All will be well." Isobel insisted, firmly. Mary couldn't lose courage now. "He loves you, of that I'm sure."

He had proposed marriage, twice. He'd ended his engagement with Miss Swire. If Matthew only felt a little of what Mary felt for him, then he loved her very well indeed.

"I know he does."

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><p>It had turned so bitterly cold. Winter was here. Perhaps, it would snow. Matthew felt the first few drops here and there of rain and sighed. No, it would rain. Just like Violet had said it would. He sighed again; it seemed that Violet had been right about a few things. Tapping his hat against his leg in a small effort to keep warm, Matthew glanced into the treetops. They were bare. The last time he'd walked this path, they'd been golden and streaked with red and...he'd been happy. He'd kissed her here, for the first time in four years. He'd known the war was going to end and she didn't want him to be disappointed. Well, he was. He would be forever, if she married that man tomorrow –<p>

There she was. Off in the distance, not properly dressed for how cold it was and looking awfully melancholic. Her feet crunching down on the fallen leaves, Mary was so deep in thought, she hadn't seen him. It gave Matthew an opportunity to really look at her. He hadn't seen her since that day in Richard's study. He'd made a point of only visiting the house when he knew her to be out and had taken to skipping Sunday's church service. And now, there she was. He supposed that, when he did see her, all that rage and jealousy and disappointment would rise within him and he 'd lash out. In part, that's why he'd stayed away. But as she came closer, Matthew shook his head at his thinking. Enjoying the view of her- the concentrated frown, the dishevelled chocolate locks, the way she bit her lip – he knew that he was idiot for thinking he could do anything but love her.

"You'll catch your death out here."

Startled, Mary blinked up at the familiar voice and took an involuntarily step backwards. She thought him to be a mirage as he strode purposefully towards her. Merely inches between them, he took off his grey coat and placed it around her shoulders. She shivered at how close he stood, as Matthew's smell – whatever it was for she was sure he didn't wear cologne – engulfed her. Stood in his jacket, waistcoat and tie, hat in hand, Mary realised she had not seen him in anything but his military attire or dinner wear for so long, not since before the war. Before the war, she thought; how far had they come since then? Although, not always in the right direction. As her eyes drifted over him and took in his appearance, at how much younger he looked – all he needed was the bicycle to complete the set – Matthew nervously put his hands in his pockets at being gazed at so. She allowed herself a small smile. She was nervous, too.

"You shouldn't be so nice to me."

Matthew shrugged, but his lips twitched, relieved to her talk. "Please, I'm the nice one and you're the resentful and blunt one, everyone knows that."

"Really?" She had to ask and better to do it before they fell into forced pleasantries, stilted conversation and said nothing of any real importance. She ventured. "...considering how we left things..."

Matthew grew sombre. They were to cut straight to the chase, then. He asked the question that had been burning his mind. "Why did I have to hear it from him?"

It hadn't been the question Mary was expecting. She sighed tiredly. "...I couldn't find the words. I couldn't find them at Richard's that day...when you proposed...when you waited patiently for an answer. Four years of not finding the words." She smiled humourlessly. "I knew you needed to know, but still-"

"You told _him_."

"Yes and it was surprisingly easy." Matthew flinched, but Mary determinedly held his gaze. He needed to understand. "I wasn't afraid of his opinion, that he would look at me differently, with only the derision I felt I deserved - that he wouldn't want me anymore - why would I be afraid when I didn't care?" She pulled his coat around her tighter. "For _you_, for you to look at me..."

The fear in her eyes drew concern and apology from his own. "It took me by surprise. I shouldn't have reacted as I did."

"No, of course you should have. You were, _are_, well within your right to hate me for-"

"No! I could never..." His eyes widened at the thought. How could she even think that? "I've let myself be overwhelmed with thoughts that I thought below me. Up on my mighty horse, thinking you so weak and debauched and unable to think, no - unable to _feel_ clearly, because I let myself be blighted by my own pride and jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Mary hung on to that word and felt her breath quicken.

"Yes. Your grandmother pointed that out."

She glanced at him, apprehensively, but his wry smile encouraged her that Granny hadn't said anything too terrible. "I dread to think what she said."

"Nothing more or less than the truth, I think." He admitted, his heart being cheered by her nerves. He knew that she cared, but it certainly felt good to have proof. "She reminded me that you're _you_, your own person with faults and insecurities, just like everybody else. You're not perfect and when you were with Pamuk, I probably didn't even enter your head. Why would I? - You were still hoping that Downton would be rid of me."

Mary frowned in dismay at words. Perhaps, Granny had said terrible things. He grinned at her horrified expression and shrugged lightly as if this wasn't the conversation that would make or break them. "It's alright! Perfection is overrated and it was a different time. Now..." His grin disappeared, as he looked at her with all seriousness. "...now, I can barely remember my life before you. It hurt to think my Mary," he smiled as he heard his own words, "...always _my_ Mary, even when engaged to Lavinia, even when you're..." He trailed off, swallowing, his eyes flicking down to her ring.

Mary followed his gaze; in her rush to find Matthew, she'd forgotten to put on gloves. It sat on her finger as a reminder of what seemed an age ago. When she'd been so determined that Matthew should stick to his word and marry Lavinia and she'd started to believe that maybe, just maybe, Richard could make her happy. But even then, it had looked wrong, too flashy and extravagant for her delicate hand. It was certainly a rock, Mama was right about that. And, as she blinked against the rain, which had slowly started to pick up, she remembered Perseus and sea monsters and Plutarch: water continually dropping will wear hard rocks hollow. She smirked inwardly; she doubted even acid rain would put a dent in this ring, but it needn't. Perseverance, that's what this was. They were so close, she couldn't let her courage fail her now. "I'm not going to marry Richard." Her voice seemed to ring out amongst the trees. "He's determined that I'll be happy but he's created an impossible task for himself."

"It's -" Matthew licked his lips, not sure what to say. He hadn't expected that. He thought he'd need to convince her not to marry Richard, but she'd got there all by herself. He clung on to her words, unwilling to let himself hope. She had a way of crushing those. "Why is it impossible?"

"He's not you."

Her answer was perfectly simple, but nevertheless perfect. Yes, he knew it, rationally. Nobody was perfect, but in that moment, Matthew knew with all certainty that Mary Crawley was perfect for him. And he knew his eyes to be shining as she carried on, unaware of how much he loved her right there and then.

"I've thought about it and decided that, unless you make an honest woman of me, Captain Crawley, I shan't be marrying anyone!" She smiled tearfully."...The thing is, I know what a fool I've been, the mistakes that I've made, the regrets that I have, but one can't change the past - part of me doesn't want to! Despite all the heartache, if I'd accepted you _then_, would I have loved you half as well as I do now?" She looked at him imploringly, but he only stared at her. Some of the wind left her sails, she sighed. "I don't know. All I do know is that I'm sorry and I love you, both more than you'll ever know and I ever thought possible."

Matthew finally dragged his eyes away from her and pulled his coat better around her.

"I can't forgive you, Mary."

And it hurt, stabbed at her, until his eyes met her own again and she saw everything that she'd ever wished for. Love, affection, contentment – and all directed at her. He smiled, bringing one hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb over her soft skin, rosy in the cold. "How can I when there's nothing to forgive? - God help me, if you don't marry me after that little speech of yours –" He warned her, grinning. "I adore you, Mary Crawley, my heart will always be yours," she could feel his breath warm on her face and melted at his words, "...and I will be too, if you'll have me."

Her mouth dry, she took a moment to realise what he was saying and fought the urge to pinch herself. This wasn't a dream. Matthew was standing before her, his hand on her face, his eyes caressing her, loving her as he always did, and still determined to be with her. She nodded. "I see."

He waited for more, but nothing came. He raised his eyebrows; he didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Without thinking, his hand went from her face to play with her hair and touch the back of her neck; his other hand still by his side, holding his hat. "That's all you have to say? Almost six years of frustration and speaking out of turn, saying things we didn't mean – all preventing us from waking up and realising we belonged together – and all I am to get is _I see_?"

"It was all your fault." She frowned, decidedly, his complaining spurring her to speak. Her hands came up to play with the lapel of his jacket. "If you hadn't made that ghastly comment to begin with, then none of this would have happened."

"Blame me, why don't you?" He barked a laugh, his arm by his side coming to wrap her around the waist. "I tried to apologise. You were the one who swept in and out of Crawley House and called me a joke!"

"I called the situation a joke!" She corrected him, her hands now resting on his upper arms. "And I didn't _sweep_...I can't help it if you were left trailing in my wake!"

"Trailing in your..." He shook his head, fondly, pulling her closer. "Don't pretend you don't like it! Something tells me I'm to live a life following after you!"

Mary threw her arms about his neck and stood on tiptoe to look in his face. She grinned broadly at his pouting. "What a good husband you shall make!"

"Hmm, more like a lapdog..."

"Well," Mary tried to purse her lips, thoughtfully, but her smile broke through, "...if the shoe fits-"

She was stopped as Matthew claimed her lips for his own. She really did talk too much, sometimes. Mary sighed into his mouth and happily let him gather her in his arms properly. She surrendered to the moment, but as their tongues danced together, her smile broke through once more. Kissing Matthew was the most wonderful thing and she had the rest of their lives to do it. Pulling back, he rolled his eyes affectionately and pushed back her damp hair from her eyes. He returned her smile only briefly before kissing her cheek, her jaw, her neck...and the smile soon left her face as well.

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><p>After kissing and touching each other in an effort to commit this all to memory, to make sure this was all real, Matthew knew it was best that they return to the house. The rain had really picked up, but it had done nothing to dampen his desire for her and – now that they were sure of each other – he wanted to wait until they were married. Walking back through the wood, his arm around Mary's shoulders, holding her to him as they walked, Matthew listened attentively as she described the last few weeks without him.<p>

"- Richard's coming up to the house, he might already be there now. I'll tell him right away." She glanced up at Matthew, apologetically, but knew that it must be discussed. She sighed unhappily. "He'll try to ruin everything. I know him. He can be loyal, he can even be kind," Matthew raised an eyebrow, but admitted that Mary knew him far better and he had no reason to be jealous, no doubts of her love for him. Mary sighed again."...but if you burn him..."

"We'll go away, far away, at least for a little while."

"I'd like that." She smiled at his reassurance, leaning closer to him, cold and now quite wet. A thought struck her. "How do you feel about Rhodesia?"

"You want to go to Africa?"

"Why not?" Mary continued, laughing at Matthew's baffled expression. "You and I must have lots of adventures, you know...I promised James."

_James_. Matthew sighed inwardly, Mother had mentioned it in passing this morning. He could only imagine how Mary must be feeling. His eyes softening, he pressed a loving kiss to her temple. "Well, a promise _is_ a promise. To Rhodesia, we go!"

Her face already damp, she wasn't sure if his words had brought tears to her eyes, but they certainly made her heart sing. He loved her, she knew, but he understood her and that meant so much. She wiped her cheeks; she would mourn James in her own time, but she couldn't now. Walking at Matthew's side, only utter bliss seemed appropriate.

"Granny will never let us hear the end of this, you realise! Even on her deathbed, she'll still be crowing about how she put us back together again."

"Let her crow, my darling." Matthew declared, happily. "I've developed a great admiration for your grandmother, even greater in light of recent events."

"Hmm, me too..." She agreed, before remembering of what they had spoken when last in these woods. "So, you won't be angry when I do look like her then?"

"No." He shook his head, resolutely, and indulged himself with a kiss to her cheek. "For it shall mean that we're old, and together, that we've lived our lives side by side - we're just getting started and I'm already in heaven!"

"_In_ _heaven_?" Mary glanced at him, amused by his words and embarrassed at how they made her blush. "Honestly, Matthew, you do dramatise! It's raining, we're both cold and windswept, I have to tell Richard that we're finished which will, let's face it, lead to my name being dragged relentlessly through the papers. Mama will complain how embarrassing this all is, me leaving it so late in the day, after Mrs. Patmore has spent so long on the cake and Mrs. Hughes on the seating arrangements." She clucked her tongue, muttering, "...at least Edith will stop prattling on about having to wear that bloody dress..." She trailed off, as Matthew's feet ground to a halt. She blew up in frustration at the wet hair which, yet again, covered her face. "What?"

Peeling it back and putting it behind her ear. He smiled as he noticed that Downton had crept into view. Yes, he was very happy. Very happy, indeed. He kissed Mary soundly on the lips.

"Nothing...nothing at all."

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

****Well, I think it was about time we had some bloody romance, don't you? (especially after that finale - the Christmas special has a lot of boxes it needs to tick!) Hope you enjoyed and please review!


	15. Chapter 15

Here we go! Next installment, sorry it's been a while! Let me know what you think! I hope we're all looking forward to a Downton Christmas!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 15:<span>**

Walking up the path back to Downton, Mary blinked against the rain, but didn't feel the cold. How could she feel anything other than warm when Matthew's arm was wrapped around her? They smiled and laughed and apologised to one another a thousand times over for all the wasted years and their mistakes, before promising to never look back again. Better late than never, they agreed. During the war, before things were fixed with Carlisle and Matthew was with Lavinia, Mary couldn't help but dream that she and Matthew might reunite. There would be birds tweeting, she with her parasol and not a cloud in the sky, but, as she looked at her Matthew - a broad smile on his face, his fringe drooping forward due to the rain – Mary finally realised that her life would never live up to the expectations she had created. No, how could it, when her expectations were to be exceeded in every way possible? To live at Crawley House, to be a lawyer's wife, she would do it all so willingly, so gladly, to be with Matthew. It was no cross to bear or price to pay, she would relish every waking moment of it and her mind ran away with her as she thought to their life, their future together.

But, as they drew ever closer to Downton, the present suddenly caught up with her. The maids rushed to bring in the last of the flowers. Flowers for her wedding. Her wedding to Richard Carlisle. Matthew rushed her inside, to get her out of the rain, to be sure, but she felt him stiffen at the sight of those flowers as well. He began to fuss as he helped her out of her coat, mumbling about how the weather would probably improve towards the end of the week and how lovely it would be if there was a white Christmas. Her hand on his shoulder stilled his movements and her eyes sought his, confidently. It would be awful and difficult and, despite her family's love for Matthew, many others would be not only scandalised by her decision to cancel the wedding, but disappointed by her breaking her word. Matthew smiled, comforted, and Mary tried to return it in kind; the last of his doubts were gone, but Mary's guilt lingered. She thought of Richard. Papa hated the man, that much was certain, thinking him presumptuous and devoid of any generosity. Mama believed him to be a little too charming, with a nasty streak that he kept well-hidden. Sybil thought him too old and Edith though him uncouth. Granny knew him to be a schemer and a liar.

Nevertheless, in a strange way, Mary had come to care for Richard. He had a temper and knew which words would hit the right nerve, but he was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn't ashamed to admit it. Mary could respect that. At Cliveden, she'd been so down in the mouth; it had finally dawned on her how much she loved Matthew and how he might, at that very moment, be laying in a ditch on a field in France somewhere. Richard had been such a marvellous distraction. He'd looked so out-of-place amongst society's upper crust; his ignorance overlooked by everyone, seeing as he was the richest man there. His eyes had met hers over the dinner table as a joke was told about Lady Betty Goodwin, his bemused expression bringing a smile to her lips. He had no idea who Lady Betty was, but furthermore, he really couldn't care and she loved that. Richard didn't want to be an embarrassment within the high social stratum that he'd been thrown into, but he'd never compromised on who he was or what he thought in an effort to fit in. Watching Matthew put their coats on the hook, Mary realised that perhaps Richard and Matthew did have something in common, then. Perhaps, that's why she'd been drawn to Richard in the first place. She hoped that Richard would take it well, with as much grace as he could muster, be the man that she thought he could be-

"My lady, Sir Richard is in library..."

- then again, maybe not. Carson's voice broke into her reverie and his expression, though a mystery to many, was clear to Mary. The very way he said Richard's name made his distaste clear and the way he trailed off alerted her to the fact that Richard was not in a good mood. Carson's thoughts in all of this: that no man was truly good enough for Lady Mary. Towering over her, as he had done since she was a child, he greeted Matthew and took his hat. She frowned, cautiously. "Go on."

"He's been here for some time now. His Lordship has tried to keep Sir Richard entertained, but he's been quite put out that you're not here."

"To put it lightly, I think..." She tried to smile, but grimaced instead, her nerves starting to get the better of her. "Thank you, Carson." She turned to Matthew and smiled; his love and concern for her written all over his face. "I suppose it's time to cross the Rubicon."

"I can come with you, if you like."

If she hadn't been so anxious, Mary supposed that she would have laughed at the shock on Carson's face. As soon as Matthew's hand touched her elbow, the butler knew. Matthew faced Lavinia alone, she could face Richard. Though, she thought wryly, it seemed she'd certainly drawn the short stick when it came to fiancé's. She played with her earring, tiredly; she should really write to Lavinia, explaining everything. They had got on so well, Mary hated the idea of ending things on bad terms. She sighed inwardly, knowing she shouldn't try to distract herself from the matter at hand. She looked up, to see Matthew and Carson sending each other looks. _Congratulations? Good luck? Richard's a rotten bastard?_ She wasn't sure what they were conveying, but she was contented to see a look of understanding pass between them and an old twinkle return to Carson's eye.

"No, I'll go alone. He deserves that much."

Ignoring the snorts from both of them, she walked briskly to the library, lest her feet take her upstairs to hide. They were supposed to be married _tomorrow_, she couldn't dither and she needed to be firm. Biting her lip, she opened the door and stepped through. Her father and Richard spun to look at her, worry gracing their faces. Oh, she must look such a state. The hem of her dress, wet and muddy; some of her hair let loose, wet from the rain; her cheeks rosy from the cold outside.

"Mary! Where on earth have you been?" Richard demanded of her, frowning as he took in her appearance. "Really, you must be freezing, go and change. "

"Well, you see...no, I..." She stopped, frustrated with herself, and tried to gather her thoughts. So much for not dithering. "I must speak with you first."

"Is it of great importance?" He asked, impatiently, looking briefly at Robert, suspiciously. Lord Grantham had been acting odd since the moment he'd arrived and now he was looking at his daughter curiously. "Everyone's in uproar because I invited a few more guests. Apparently, simply _asking_ someone to attend a wedding is very improper. Your mother's insisting that, if they didn't get an invitation, then we can't accommodate them. You must speak with her."

"...Richard, I-"

"I thought spaces were opening up all the time!" He complained, looking at them both for confirmation. He sighed loudly and sat down to recline in the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped along the back. "This Spanish flu has everyone dropping like flies, your father mentioned one of your guests died last night. Although I do wonder what you were doing inviting a crippled and deranged soldier to our wedding in the first place."

She blinked. He wasn't talking about – he couldn't be? A crippled and deranged soldier? Her breath slowed at his words, her anxiety dulling. How dare he speak of James that way. When she told Matthew of James' death, less than half an hour before, he had comforted and soothed her, knowing how much the young Captain had meant to her. But Richard...All his confessions of love, of how he cared for her, he didn't really care at all, did he? He didn't know her. Richard had never taken the time to learn of her interests, of her character. When he'd found out about her affair with Pamuk, he hadn't so much as blinked. Mary had been thankful for that, confirming that he and she could make a good team. But now, hearing him be so callous, she had her doubts. He hadn't blinked, because it didn't matter to him. _She_ didn't matter to him. She mattered in the sense that she was going to be his wife, but it was all about appearances. She could think whatever the hell she wanted, as long as she played the part. Knowing that her heart still belonged to Matthew, he still wanted to marry her. Feeling even more certain that she could never marry this man, her voice finally grew in its strength.

"May I have a word in private, please?"

He looked at her curiously and tested her. "No. We don't have the time."

She stood up straighter and fixed her eyes on him. She wasn't going to be dissuaded. "Richard, I must talk to you alone." He stared back, but said nothing. She turned to her father, displaying more confidence than she felt. "Papa, Matthew's in the hall, why don't you keep him company?"

"Matthew Crawley..." Richard drawled, shaking his head. "If I never hear his name again, it wouldn't be too soon-"

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." Robert implored his daughter, not trusting himself to look at Richard without calling the man out. At hearing Mary speak Matthew's name, his heart soared with the hope that the two had made up. Carlisle would turn nasty, he didn't doubt it, but he knew there were some battles that one had to face alone. Closing the door firmly, the engaged couple were left in silence. Richard's eyebrow briefly rose in annoyance at being cut off by his future father-in-law; no matter, as of tomorrow, they would remove themselves to Hacksby. He looked at Mary expectantly as she turned back to him, her shoulders tighter, her expression uncomfortable.

"_A crippled and_..." She couldn't bring herself to repeat his awful words. She frowned at him, vexed, but curiously interested. "When I speak...do you listen?"

He frowned, at first, seemingly confused by her question, but she made no moves to sound less cryptic. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. "Of course I do, don't be absurd." He said firmly. He seemed to lean back further into the sofa, making himself more comfortable, as if she was intruding on his domain. But her frown stayed in place; this was her house, not his, and he wasn't getting the upper hand.

"No, really, you hear what I say, but do you _listen_?...e was such a good friend to me," She said sadly, " you knew that, I _told_ you that in an effort to help us to...to connect!" She shook her head, almost bemused by his obvious lack of interest in her. "Do you even remember his name?"

"Is there some point to all of this?"

She scoffed at his nonchalance, knowing he didn't have a clue. "He was called James and you don't love me, not really."

_That_ caught his attention. How had they jumped to love? It abruptly dawned on Richard that this conversation might be a serious one indeed, and one he did not wish to have. He stood up slowly from where he sat and approached her, as if approaching a timid animal that could run off at any moment. He looked at her, intently. "That's not true...in the way I understand love, I love you. I want to care for you, give you all that you desire, be a good husband-"

She didn't doubt that he wanted them to be happy together, but his warped view of what made a marriage did not fit in with her own. "I know and I appreciate that, but..." She shook her head, again, gently. "...that's not what I want, or need. That's not love as I understand it."

And suddenly he understood. He stared wide-eyed at the door, at the carpet, at her. "...You mean to throw me over..." He said quietly, amazed. "What you're saying is that _I'm_ not what you want."

"Yes."

He swallowed. " I have tried so hard with you, Mary, to show you that I care."

"I'm aware of that," Her eyes softened as his tone, "and I appreciate it, I really do-"

"I've always been honest with you, Mary. When you came to me with what you did, I never judged you or scolded you or wanted you any less! I don't expect you to be anything other than who you are! We could be so happy, you and I, if you'd let us and yet you want to bet on _him_?" His anger, a dear and familiar friend, pushed his shock to one side. Knowing that she was to dismiss him left him angry; knowing that she was to replace him with _Matthew Crawley_ had him furious and incensed. "Some lawyer who thinks himself to be so good and righteous! The aristocracy is on the way out, my dear," She turned away as he seemed to draw closer and snarl. "- when he finally becomes Earl, you might find there's not that much left!"

She finally snapped at that. "I can't be bought, Richard!"

"Every man has his price. In your case, every woman." As he brought his voice under control, a shiver went down her spine. "In exchange for your hand, you had my silence. Don't think I won't do it, Mary. If you think that I'll let you and him live happily ever after, then you are gravely mistaken."

"I'm sorry. I am." She shrugged. She was sorry and he would see his threat through, that's all there was to it. "I know it won't change anything and you'll have your revenge, but I have tried to love you-"

"Ah, loving me is so very hard!" His temper got the better of him again, as her words stung. She glanced at him apologetically; she hadn't meant to sound like that. "...Is that supposed to make me feel better? To think that I spent days worrying and wondering if _this_ would please you!" She held back a gasp, as he roughly grabbed her wrist, looking at the ring that he had put there. He went to speak, but nearly choking on his words, he waited a moment, before opening his mouth again. "I felt like a young lad again when I put it on your finger," He said, almost wistful at the memory, "...in more than forty years of me being on this earth, I hadn't considered marriage once until I saw _you_ at Cliveden."

It hit her like a ton of bricks. He _did_ love her, he truly did, and so there would be no forgiveness for what she was doing to him. If he had been a selfless lover, desirous to see her happy beyond all else, he would let her go, but that wasn't Richard Carlisle. He'd thought it quite the inconvenience when he fell for Mary, but supposed marriage would set things right. It had crept up on him, a love that was everything possessive and manipulative. She tested her wrist, but his fingers kept their grip. She sighed, saddened it had come to this. He hadn't simply envisioned them as a good team, celebrated and envied by the rest of society, he'd envisioned their lives together and Mary knew, better than many, how cruel it could when that vision was stripped from you. "I'm so sorry, I..." But there were no real words of comfort she could offer him, what was she to say? She was leaving him.

"Yes, you love him." He shook his head, bitterly. "You've _always_ loved him, but you thought you'd wait until _now_ to end it!" He couldn't believe her audacity; their wedding was tomorrow! "When all my friends and relations are making their way here? Everything ready and waiting, were you hoping that Matthew would fit my suit and no one would notice if he took my place at the altar?" He tried to maintain control but it was difficult. He glared at her, beseechingly, for her defence, his hand closing even tighter.

"Richard, you're hurting me..." She pleaded with him, quietly, trying to remove her hand again. Try as she might, panic was beginning to set in.

"_I'm_ hurting _you_?" He scoffed and she gasped as he pulled her towards him. "How long have you two been planning this? Let's wait until the old man thinks this is all a done deal and then tell him! I'm surprised you didn't want to really drive the knife in and wait until tomorrow! Have him yell out when the Reverend asks if there are any objections!"

"Enough, Richard!" She demanded of him, refusing to give in to fear. "I _am_ sorry, but I won't let you twist this. Though I have no doubt that you'll do your best to ruin my reputation, I didn't set out to hurt you. I love Matthew-"

Hearing his name was enough. And suddenly Mary's head was turned and her cheek stung; he slapped her. He slapped her very hard and her teeth clenched together to stop herself from crying. She hadn't been slapped since she was a child. She'd been ten-years-old, on the cusp of puberty, and the summer sun had left her bothered and uncomfortable. Granny had employed that sharp tongue, as per usual, and in Mary's fury, she'd been abominably rude. Her mother had told her that she was still young enough to have her bottom slapped. Mary had dared her to do it and her Mama called her bluff. She'd felt ashamed and embarrassed and so sorry about all of it, but as her eyes met Richard's – unyielding and unapologetic for his actions – Mary was indignant. He had manipulated her, made her doubt Matthew's affections, and often reduced her to a whimpering pathetic excuse for a woman, but this was a joke. He loved her? His _love_ was going to leave a bruise on her face. Wrenching her hand free sharply, she glared at her, her familiar smirk coming back to life. He was nothing but a bully and Lady Mary did not stand for bullies.

"I think I've had myself a very lucky escape. You love me, do you?" She looked him up and down with something akin to pity. "You're not even half the man Matthew is-"

And then he slapped her again. And again, and didn't stop, even when she was on the floor, and even when the library door flung open.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

****Little bit of a cliff there for you! Hope you like and do review!


	16. Chapter 16

Well, here it is. The final instalment! Let me know what you think!

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 16:<span>**

She was on the ground, she knew that much. And her eyes were closed and her face felt numb. That was right; the man who loved her more and could give her all that she ever desired had snapped. She waited for the next blow, for Richard's hand to strike once more, but nothing came. Mary was surprised to hear movements and groans and growls as a blur of blonde hair threw Richard off of her. She clambered to her feet and put her hand to her face, the numbness being replaced by a sharp burn. Her eyes widened, as Matthew's fist collided with Richard's face; her own pain was soon forgotten. Richard stumbled backwards from the force of it and lunged for Matthew himself, but missed. Matthew's second blow had Richard bleeding from the mouth. Mary stood, unmoving, as she suddenly saw her father for the first time. He, like her, was stunned. Robert swallowed as he gazed at his daughter's red cheek, "Dear God, Mary..." he whispered. She shook her head to tell him she was fine, but they jumped as they heard the smashing of a vase and Richard's back collide with the wall. Matthew had him by the lapel.

"Matthew!" Robert shouted, aghast. The situation seemed to be spinning out of control; no one had ever seen Matthew like this. Mary closed her eyes, and shook her head to clear it, in disbelief. When she opened her eyes, her father was suddenly at Matthew's shoulder, trying to pull him back.

But Matthew was seeing red. His eyes unmoving from the man she might have married. "You son of a-"

"Stop!" Robert said desperately, seeing Matthew tempted to go for another punch. "My dear boy, stop, _stop_..." He lowered his voice and stood calmly, close to Matthew's ear. All three men breathing deeply from the exertion. "Don't waste your freedom, if not your _life_, on killing such a..." Robert's eyes flared and flickered to Richard "...such a disgraceful excuse for a man – Matthew!" He yanked Matthew firmly back.

"What on earth is going on here?" Cora gasped, as she took in the broken glass and blood dribbling down Sir Richard's chin. She looked to her daughter in askance, before flinching at the sight. "..._oh_, _my_ _darling_..."

Matthew forced himself to keep his voice low, as Robert pulled him away. "If you ever lay a hand on her again, I swear to God-"

"S-shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Richard said, wiping the blood from his face and leaning against the wall heavily. "It sounds like you've put a fair few hands on my fiancée-"

Richard was cut short as Matthew grabbed him by the jacket again, the pleas of Cora and Robert going unanswered, determined to hit Richard again until a quiet voice from the corner finally spoke up.

"Matthew..." Mary whispered, coming to rest her hand on the back of a chair, "...don't..."

"_Mary_..." Matthew replied, desperately. He shook his head; she had no idea what she was asking of him. How could Mary, out of everyone, want him to leave Richard be? He had not turned to look at her yet, scared what he would find. He had heard the last of their conversation, of her love for him...of the crack which echoed in the library as this bastard's hand hit her cheek. During the war, he'd felt anger. When one of your company falls, all one wants to do is hurt and shoot and _kill_ the man who killed your soldier, your comrade, your friend. It was frustration, more than anything, because Matthew knew, when he did hurt and shoot and _kill_ that German on the other side, he'd be killing someone else's comrade, someone else's friend. But this. This was pure and gluttonous rage. This was the man who had stood in the way of his happiness, who had made Mary doubt his own love for her, the man who was prepared to blackmail her into marriage. And yet, Mary had felt guilty for breaking her word. Matthew berated himself for letting her speak to Richard alone. He was a coward; of course, he would have no problem hitting women. It didn't surprise him that, confronted with Matthew, Richard was cowering.

He sighed and let go of Richard. He turned to face Mary. He frowned, not because her cheek looked sore or her hair a little dishevelled, but because she stood there with a small smile on her face.

"It's over..." She whispered, tearfully, _gladly_. "It's _over_, Matthew."

And when the love of your life is smiling at you like that, and you think of all that you have suffered and been through together, you cannot help but smile back. And, as Matthew smiled, he felt the anger – which was so foreign to him before 1914 – leave his body and be replaced by an emotion which suited his character far better: hope.

Straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair. Richard tried to look as haughty and superior as possible; a difficult feat when the living daylights had nearly been beaten out of him. "It'll never be over, you have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" His eyes were directed at Mary, but he flinched a little as he felt Matthew look back at him. "Every door will be shut to you, the Earldom of Grantham scorned for generations to come – the infamous _Lady_ Mary Crawley who bedded the Turk and-"

"You can scream it from the rooftops for all I care!" Richard tried to mask his surprise at the confidence in her voice. Any guilt he felt from hitting her disappeared as she made her defiance clear. She flung her arms out and laughed humourlessly. "Parade me around the streets of London, have my name smeared across every paper from here to Timbuktu – I do not _care_, Richard!" She grinned from ear to ear, feeling better than she had in a long time. Perhaps, she thought wryly, a smack around the face cleared the head. "Nothing you do or could do _matters_ to me anymore, I'm free - I'm free and I'm happy."

"You'll soon grow tired of it," Richard said, with more certainty than he felt, clenching his jaw as Matthew made his way to stand by Mary's side. "Being a solicitor's wife – you're capable of _so_ much more. I can give you-"

"Nothing that I want or need." She said, determined. With Matthew standing beside her, she felt no fear in repeating the words which had provoked Richard. She had to say it; she had to be clear. "I _love_ Matthew, and I want to be with him and he wants to be with me - that makes me a very rich woman, indeed."

Richard raised an eyebrow and pouted thoughtfully for a moment. He could feel Cora looking at him warily, Robert wondering if he should take a swing at the man himself and looked into the faces of the two most stubborn people he had ever met. What was the point? Regardless of how he felt for Mary Crawley, he could better. He took solace in the thought that this world, these people who stood before him, were soon to be relics of the past. The Earls and Dukes of this new era would have to make way for the people with the real money and power; the war had seen to that. "I don't know why I've bothered." He sniffed, proudly, glancing up and down at the woman who would never be his wife. "You're moody and shrill, you're ten years older than every debutante-"

"Get out of my house." Robert's words, cut the air like glass.

"God..." Richard sighed, feeling himself begin to shake, feeling tears begin to prick his eyes. He'd waited for so long for her and it had all been for nothing. "You ungrateful _bitch_."

"Out!" Lord Grantham's voice bounced off the walls. "_Now_!"

Richard said no more and strode out of the room. Mary and Matthew both breathed a sigh of relief. His hand went to grasp her own, he glanced at her cheek, feeling so guilty.

"Mary, darling-"

She rested a brief comforting hand on his chest. It was so like Matthew to blame himself, but there was no point. She smiled and acknowledged that it definitely hurt, but something told her that Richard had held back. That he could have hit her harder, but didn't. It would bruise, undoubtedly, but he had not set out to truly injure her. He'd been hurting and was too weak to express it in any other way. She flinched, as Matthew gently touched a cheek. It would never excuse him, of course, and she didn't doubt that Richard was capable of worse. Thank God she'd never married him. "It smarts a little, but I'll be fine."

"You might as well jump ship, ladies and gentlemen, _this_ family is on the way out!"

All the occupants of the room glanced at each other as they heard Richard's voice in the hall. Quickly, they walked out to see the maids and footmen, still carrying various things for the wedding, stopped in their tracks, on the stairs, on the balconies, by the doors, as Sir Richard spun around to all of them, Carson trying, in vain, to politely usher the man out. Sybil and Edith, too, stood half way up the stairs, frozen as the newspaper magnet seemed determined to make a spectacle of himself.

Cora blinked, astonished. "Will that man ever stop..."

"Oh my God," Sybil breathed, rushing down the steps, as she took in her sister's appearance, the red against Mary's pale appearance so clear in the light. "Mary, are you alright?"

"Girls, go upstairs!" Robert commanded, hoping to shelter his daughters from whatever awful accusations and foul language Richard was to embark on.

"You _hit_ my sister?" Edith, too, came down the stairs, appalled, glaring at Sir Richard. "Who in God's name do you think you are?"

"The good Lady Mary is nothing but a whore," Richard said determinedly. All the ladies gasped but for Mary, Carson's chest puffed in outrage. " – a good headline, but for which newspaper?"

Only Mary's hand in his own managed to keep Matthew sane, but Robert was quick to be riled and rose to his daughter's defence. "How dare you speak of my daughter in that way! If you do not leave this instant, I will have the police remove you-"

"and when you do," Richard informed his Lordship, smugly, lowering his voice. "I'll be informing them of a slight matter – the murder of a foreign dignitary, a Mr. Kemal Pamuk."

Carson, flustered, ushered every servant out. Robert glared, but remained silent; Richard stood victorious. And then, the sound of a cane tapping against stone neared as Violet walked out of the drawing room. She'd been left alone, twiddling her thumbs, as Cora had run to see as to what the shouting from the library was pertaining. The Dowager had been very generous, she had thought, leaving the young people - relatively so - to sort out their own affairs, but to no avail. If one wanted something doing properly, it was best that one did it oneself. Coming to stand beside her son, she raised an exasperated eyebrow at the weasel who had managed to worm his way into Downton and into their lives.

"And what exactly are you going to say, Sir Richard? That you've heard a _rumour_?" She asked politely, pleased to see the man reluctant to back down. A challenge, how marvellous.

She smiled. "That my granddaughter was responsible for the death of a Turkish diplomat _seven years ago_? That you've sat on this information and said nothing until my granddaughter _threw you over_? Not that a..." She glanced at her beloved granddaughter, her blood boiling as she saw her face. Richard, following her eye line, swallowed nervously. "..._gentleman_ such as yourself would ever dream of creating such a vile rumour as a means of revenge, I'm sure..."

She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing: "And it's not as if we haven't just spent four years and lost hundreds of thousands of good men in a war against many nations, Turkey amongst them – no, I don't doubt the police and the British public will be _up_ _in_ _arms_ about the death of a poor Turk! Of course, everyone will believe _your_ newspapers without question – despite recent events," She waved her stick casually in the direction of Mary and Matthew, "how could you be anything but fair and impartial?"

She did her best to sound sincere, but Richard's confidence plummeted as Violet carried on, relentlessly. "And Gosh, how people's hearts will bleed for you, that _you_ – a ridiculously wealthy man only made richer during the war – are to be tossed so callously aside for a _Captain_," Violet glanced proudly at Matthew, "who spent years on the frontline, doing his duty. My granddaughter's face may be black and blue tomorrow but it must be nothing to the hurt you must be feeling." She smiled again, feigning sympathy. Sighing, bored, she turned to her son and nearly rolled her eyes at the awe and pride she saw in his own. As if there had been any doubt. "Well, Robert, all this talk of newspapers reminds me that I must take up Viscount Burnham's offer for dinner, he's so starved for company – do you know Harry?" She asked Sir Richard, innocently. "Darling man, owns the Daily Telegraph, you know."

Richard nodded slowly, understandingly and blinked as she delivered the final blow. If he did not heed Violet's advice to not publish the story, then they'd fight fire with fire. Suddenly, he wondered how he'd held on to Mary for this long. Mary's reputation would suffer, it was true, but the barrel he had had her over, wasn't a very good barrel at all.

Robert took in Sir Richard's presence for the last time and stood taller. "...Carson, if you would kindly show Sir Richard out..."

Carson nodded, obligingly; the glint in his eye making it clear to Sir Richard that the butler had no qualms about removing him by force. "With pleasure, my Lord." Richard nodded, again, and turned to walk out.

"...wait."

Richard turned back in surprise, as Mary came towards him. All members of her family were poised to kill him, if he touched her.

Cora stepped forward, anxiously. "Mary, what-"

She fought to keep her nerves at bay, as she approached him. She thought briefly about hitting him, giving him a taste of his own medicine, but she couldn't. God, he looked so..._pathetic_. Just patiently standing there waiting to be insulted, the rich and powerful Sir Richard – and then she realised it. That had been her. The cold and careful Lady Mary brought down to size, _by love_.

She'd been wearing that face ever since that summer party in 1914 and it hadn't disappeared until today. To say that unrequited love was hardly fashionable was such an understatement; it was ugly and heart-breaking and tragic. Taking off the engagement ring that had never quite looked right, Mary didn't have it in her to hate the man before her, she could only pity him. She held it out to him. "This belongs to you."

He looked at her, wryly. "You should keep it. You'll probably need to pawn it someday." She remained unmoved. She didn't want it, she couldn't wear it and it wasn't hers to sell. He sighed and took it from her. "Fine, I suppose this is goodbye, then..."

"Goodbye, Sir Richard." Her gaze, unwavering, she didn't know whether to smile or spit in his face. In the end, she shrugged, just a little. Whatever they'd shared was done with and whatever he threw at her now, she'd deal with head on. For now, this day, there was a ceasefire. And then, he had left and Carson was closing the door and she was watching him walk down the long-winding path out of the estate.

"Mary, my darling girl, I'll telephone for Dr. Clarkson at once!" She heard her Mama, but didn't reply.

She heard her father's dry tone, amused once again. "Well, you were quite something, Mama."

"I always am." She could hear the smugness, well-deserved, in her grandmother's voice. "When your wife stops flapping about, tell her to meet me in the drawing room, we have a wedding to call off and, I'm assuming, another wedding to plan."

She could hear Sybil's concern as she ran up to her. "What a horrible man, Mary – do you want me to look at your face?"

Mary smiled, half-heartedly; always the nurse. "No, it's alright."

"Well, thank God for that," Whether Edith was addressing everyone or no one, she wasn't too sure. She just kept looking outside as that figure, who had taken up so much of her time and thoughts over the last few years, grew smaller, "- can you imagine having Christmas with _him_ for the next forty years?"

"Now we don't have to." Sybil's voice sounded further away.

"Good. Mary," Edith must be on the stairs, Mary thought, feeling Carson come to stand beside her by the window. "I'm having a new bridesmaid gown when you marry Matthew."

"Oh Edith," Sybil berated her, her voice further away, "how can you think of _that_ now?"

Silence descended once more. It felt so odd, after the shouting and the insults and the fighting that had come before. She had said that it was over, now she needed to believe it herself. Carson's deep timbre warmed her up, though. "Good riddance, my lady."

"Yes, Carson," She smiled softly, as Sir Richard disappeared completely from sight. "I think you're right."

"I know I am."

At last, she drew her gaze from the window to glance up at her old confidant in surprise, but Carson wasn't looking at her. She turned to what he was staring at, so fondly.

Matthew. There he was, stood in the centre of the hall, having not moved an inch or said a word. He looked so nervously awkward and so right-at-home at the same time. He was a young lover waiting for the assurances from his beloved that all was well; he was the good Captain, the good lawyer, the good _man_, who would make a fine Earl one day. There was something missing from the picture before her, but as Carson nudged her forward she realised what it was: herself. _She_ would be stood beside him from now on. They would be married and have children and when it came to be his time to be the Earl of Grantham, Mary would be there, supporting him, loving him. And, as she came closer, and breathed a sigh at the look of pure adoration on his face, Mary could feel the tears threatening to fall. Tears that hadn't made an appearance when Richard had hit her, or insulted her, or left. For the first time, in a very long time, she was thinking about the future, not the past, and her future no longer looked bleak. In fact, her future was looking bloody wonderful.

She quickly erased any worry Matthew may have had, with her brilliant smile. All was well and, now, they could finally get on with the rest of their lives. "Well, that was certainly some ending!" She joked, breathlessly as the weight of the last few years evaporated off of her.

"_Ending_?" He repeated, surprised by her choice of words. He shook his head at her fondly, his eyes caressing her face. "...No, not an ending, my dear."

It was all she needed to hear. And then her arms were around his neck and his arms were around her waist and they were kissing each other like there was no tomorrow, because they _could_. Because they were together, would be together for as long they both drew breath and everyone who was important knew it. She smiled into his mouth as he pulled her closer, happily ignoring the voices that she could hear coming their way. At Downton, no silence ever lasted long.

"Mary, all the wedding gifts need to..." Cora trailed off and blushed at she saw her eldest in Matthew's embrace. "_Oh_."

"Cora, stop flustering, I'll..." Violet sighed, but looked up to see what had rendered her daughter-in-law near speechless. She raised an eyebrow; nothing could make the Dowager blush anymore. She frowned; young people in love did like to kiss a lot, but they'd grow out of that soon enough. "Really, there's a time and a place."

"Mama..." Cora chided Violet quietly, so not to disturb Matthew and Mary, who had come up for air – though you wouldn't know it for how close their faces were – and were now smiling and whispering to one another. A mother's heart could only melt at such a sight. "They're in _love_."

Violet rolled her eyes; Americans could be awfully soppy. "Well, some might say 'sealed with a kiss', but I shan't be content until I see that marriage license." She said, determined to see it through. "Now Cora, _you'll_ have to telephone guests – I really don't care for it and the last operator I spoke to was, frankly, rather rude- but not before you telephone Isobel to tell her how _I_ have finally forced these two to come to their senses and-"

Cora sighed, inwardly. "Shall I call for some tea?"

"My dear, that's the first sensible thing you've said all day."

* * *

><p>As it happened, Violet didn't have to wait too long for a marriage license. Though her parents had been more than happy to throw a lavish wedding – thinking it wise to use much from her wedding to Sir Richard, which Mary thought rather in poor taste – the happy couple had opted for something smaller, more traditional and intimate. A month after she ended her engagement to Sir Richard Carlisle, Lady Mary Crawley married Matthew Crawley in her village church with their families, close friends and residents of Downton in attendance. Together with Anna, Mary created a dress which was fit for any bride, be she a lawyer's or an Earl's, as long as she was in love, accompanied, of course, by some lovely Grantham heirlooms. Violet and Isobel got along very well that day and Cora couldn't stop crying. Sybil couldn't keep the smile from her face and Robert almost burst with pride. Mary insisted that Carson dance with her and he certainly didn't complain. Even Edith was content in a bridesmaid dress of her own choosing.<p>

In the end, marrying so soon had put them in good stead. Sir Richard only wavered for a week before his wounded ego could not take it lying down and scandal broke of Lady Mary and the Turkish diplomat. But, with the entire family united, including Lady Edith, in declaring to all it was nonsense, it was hard for society to condemn Mary completely - particularly when the Daily Telegraph highlighted the fact that it was Lady Mary's rejected and abusive former fiancé who owned all these horrid tabloids breaking said scandal. Her hurried marriage to Mr. Crawley was to some a quick fix, but to many others, terribly romantic, with a Sergeant here and a Corporal there earning a bob or two selling their story about what a fine Captain Mr. Crawley had been. It seemed both Mary and the general public were more ready to put their trust and confidence in Matthew rather than Sir Richard.

Nevertheless, they took themselves off around the world, keeping James' promise and helping to keep society's door well and truly open for the rest of Mary's family. They walked alongside the Zambezi River and stood over the great gorges of Victoria Falls. They saw Rhodesia, like James had wanted, and they saw so much more. From Morocco to South Africa, from India to Italy – all the sights and sounds were beyond anything of which Mary or Matthew could have ever dreamed. They had adventures, together. Six months later, they returned home, Mary's scandal long gone - replaced by Duchess suffering from nymphomania and a rather cocky footman - and to find Sybil married to Branson. This, it seemed, cemented into everyone's minds that the sisters Crawley were lovers of romance and the idea that Mary Crawley, future Countess of Grantham, would ever share a meaningless night of passion with a foreigner seemed fairly preposterous. It was a bit of anti-climax amongst some circles when Lady Edith married someone sensible: Sir Anthony Strallan.

Sir Richard wasn't put off marriage, but made to sure to tie his fiancée down far quicker. He proposed to the young and pretty, if slightly vain and stupid, Honourable Susan Franklin in 1922 and had a couple of children; they divorced sometime in the early 1930s. Miss Lavinia Swire, meanwhile, happened to fall in love with a lovely young architect, a Mr. Christian Parker, who came from a good family and settled in London. Mary could only assume that poor Lavinia had been heartbroken when she'd read all the newspapers of her marriage to Matthew and wrote a letter as a way of apology and explanation. Lavinia never replied, but when the two ladies bumped into each other at Charing Cross Station some years later, they talked and asked of one another's lives with only the sincerest interest and smiles.

When they returned, Matthew threw himself happily back into his work and helped with the running of the estate, whilst Mary threw herself, albeit unintentionally, into something quite different. Their son, James, was born September 1919, their second son Robert was born two years after that and their daughter, Violet, a year after that, every member of Downton, from the scullery maids to Lord Grantham more than content to have children in the house once more.

And when Matthew assumed his father-in-law's mantle and their sons came home from the next war, safe and sound, Mary didn't regret any of it, not for a moment. All the heartache and the sorrow had been a small price to pay and she could only thank God that, all those years earlier, she accidently let the cat of the bag.

**Fin.**

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><p>So that's it! I hope you've enjoyed my fic, I tried to keep it Mary-centric to the end and shied away from writing a wedding scene or anything (mainly because there are many people who can do that much better!) But I hope you liked how I ended it. I hope you like the compromise I made on Sir Richard – he's a twat for hitting her and blackmailing her, but he's not evil incarnate. Please let me know your final thoughts. Now, to get on with my other fic, Home Is Where the Heart is!<p> 


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